


Don't @ me

by Evax3, Mis_Shapes



Series: Collaborations - Evax3 and Mis_Shapes [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Activist Jon Snow, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Online Dating, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Character Death, Photographer Jon, Rating May Change, Sexting, Slow Burn, Texting, Twitter, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, architect Theon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26693542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evax3/pseuds/Evax3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes
Summary: Jon and Theon try their best to leave the past behind, and when they meet again online, unaware of each other's identity, they are oblivious to their cyber crushes being their respective real life nemesis.
Relationships: Alys Karstark/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Kyra
Series: Collaborations - Evax3 and Mis_Shapes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043445
Comments: 105
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello you guys,  
> just a quick note at the beginning, please make sure you have _creator style_ not turned off, so that all their social media activities are displayed correctly for you. 
> 
> This story is inspired by the movie 'You've Got Mail’ directed by Nora Ephron.
> 
> And now have fun reading! :)

* * *

**Jon**

Kyra Snow  
@kyr_snw

been about u since i saw you and now that i had u there'll be no other. EVER AGAIN. Best steak in town @LahoreGrillz

❤ 12 7:58 PM - September 23, 2020

  


“What are you doing?” Alys' voice distracts him from continuing to stare at the tweet while he decides how he’s going to react.

“Nothing,” replies Jon, looking up from his phone to where she stands in her pyjamas by the side of the sofa with a glass of water in hand. “Why?”

Smirking, Alys gives a small shake of her head, dark hair in a neat plait. “You’ve got that look on your face; are you arguing with strangers on the internet again?”

Again being the operative word. This is happening all too often. He just can’t stop himself.

“No, not really.” _Not yet._ Because he’s going to, isn’t he? He can’t not. He needs to have more self control when it comes to these things. What’s it going to achieve? Nothing. There’s not a chance this person or anyone else will change their mind.

“Get off twitter and come to bed.”

Jon calls after her as she begins to walk away and towards his bedroom, “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Hmmm…” she says knowingly. They both know a minute is never a minute when someone winds him up. “Don’t stay up too late, you have to be up early in the morning.”

“I won’t,” Jon blatantly lies.

JT Photography  
@JTPhotos

Best if you enjoy your food with a side of suffering maybe

Kyra Snow @kyr_snw

been about u since i saw you and now that i had u there'll be no other. EVER AGAIN. Best steak in town @LahoreGrillz

  


❤ 0 10:43 PM - September 23, 2020

  


Jon feels bad as soon as he’s sent it. This person might be completely oblivious to the, albeit not very successful, calls to boycott the restaurant. Is it fair to be guilting them about it? He could’ve put it more politely. Tactfully.

Everyone knows people are more likely to get defensive than anything else when criticised like this, but sometimes he lacks the patience.

Trying to put his mind off it, he continues scrolling until the notification of a reply pops up.

Kyra Snow  
@kyr_snw

replying to @JTPhotos

The only suffering right now is in my head and I think that's on you

23/09/2020, 22:51  


Oh, she’d definitely warranted it. The guilt disappears and he takes in the avatar properly. Another one of those people who thinks because they’re good looking they can get away with anything then. Probably has no experience of any real kind of hardship.

His heart races as he types and deletes constantly, trying to think of the right comeback to that.

How to get something he could write a fucking essay on into a short tweet...

JT Photography  
@JTPhotos

replying to @kyr_snw

Someone lives a sheltered life. I’m not sure their staff or those affected by poor farming practices would agree with you.

23/09/2020, 22:56  


JT Photography  
@JTPhotos

replying to @kyr_snw

it’s all style and no substance.

23/09/2020, 22:56  


Kyra Snow  
@kyr_snw

replying to @JTPhotos

u ever been there? because the substance is actually what makes it delicious 😉

23/09/2020, 23:05  


Winking face? He scowls. What the fuck does that mean? What’s he supposed to take from that?

He has been there. It’s pretentious and overpriced; everything his father enjoys in such an establishment.

It was there that he’d first refused the offer of being the family company’s in house counsel... after having his tuition paid for by his grandfather. His father had not reacted well to that. He can still picture Aegon fixing his eyes on the steak he was taking particular care in cutting, and Rhaenys’ face of equal parts horror and amusement.

JT Photography  
@JTPhotos

replying to @kyr_snw

unfortunately, yes, and you clearly have no taste.

23/09/2020, 23:08  


Kyra Snow  
@kyr_snw

replying to @JTPhotos

have you seen my posts? TASTE is my goddamn middle name.

23/09/2020, 23:11  


He really should be going to bed now. He should leave it like that. People like different things to him, he should accept that. This person's opinions don’t, or shouldn’t anyway, matter to him.

Considering this, he does start to get ready for bed, has all the right intentions but sure enough, he decides to have another look at his phone after he’s gotten under the duvet and set his alarms. He’s going to need more than the one.

JT Photography  
@JTPhotos

replying to @kyr_snw

if you had taste you’d want my suggestions

23/09/2020, 23:24  


Jon does then put his phone down on the bedside table and lie down, but the modicum of good intentions he had are thwarted by what he sees when he checks why the screen lights up a few minutes later.

**Kyra Snow** followed you

* * *

**Theon**

**JT Photography**  
@JTPhotos  
  
  
yes?  
  
23/09/2020, 23:34  
thought i'd take the offer to hear more about your taste 😉  
  
23/09/2020, 23:35

Theon knows he should leave it alone. But he is bored and stressed, and Kyra is sleeping. He could wake her up, but he’s not interested in another fuck and she deserves to rest anyway. So he moves his attention back to the phone, keeps trying to lure this smart-ass stranger out of his reserve instead.

Actually he doesn't give a shit about the Grillhouse. The food’s not bad, but they just went there ‘cause it’s close to work and he needed the shortest way to get his hands on a beer. Shout-out to his father for making his life even more exhausting than it already is.

He takes another drag of his fag as the screen blinks again.

you have some sense then at least  
  
try the place round the corner from it, The Maiden Fare. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but you won’t regret it.  
  
23/09/2020, 23:40

Theon can't help but grin a little himself as he opens another tab to take a look at the spot the guy suggested. Most likely it was the wink that made him answer in the first place, Kyra's profile leaves few sent messages unanswered. Some lonely nerd who’s happy that one hot chick is giving him some attention probably.

Though when the page is loaded, Theon reconsiders his assumption.

Looks promising, I'll give you that. good place for a date I suppose?  
  
23/09/2020, 23:44

Was that too much? Again, he thinks about dropping it and going to bed. What does he hope for anyway? But after that shitty meeting with Balon, he's still craving affirmation, even if it's from some random stranger on the Internet.

well, I don’t go on a ton of dates anymore, but it’s done well for me in the past.  
  
small tables, low lights, that kind of thing  
  
can’t imagine you need too much of a helping hand though  
  
was tonight a date? Did you bond over the ‘artisanal’ menu?  
  
23/09/2020, 23:49

Theon bursts out laughing, then with a broad grin on his lips, he leans back in his chair, his hands crossed behind his neck. Of course he knows that the third comment is based on Kyra's picture and still it gives his ego a little boost, he just can't help it. And somehow he likes the wit of this stranger, cracks his knuckles as he thinks about a smart response.

And while he does so, he doesn't hear the steps behind him and he doesn't hear the balcony door open. Only then does he turn, when she is already standing beside him, giving him a meaningful look.

“What are you doing there?”

She still looks beautiful, despite the tousled hair and the sleepy eyes, wearing only his shirt and a small black slip. It would be so much easier if he'd just fall in love with her. But that would be too much like falling in love with himself. Though without an answer, he hands her the phone and lets her read while she makes herself comfortable on the chair to his left.

Notices too late that she has started typing herself.

Actually it was just a means to an end to drown the frustration of a lousy day at work.  
  
23/09/2020, 23:55

Theon rips the phone from her hand and glares at the screen. “Why did you do that?”

“Because it's my account and I can do what I want?”

She flashes him a smile and grabs the cigarettes while he keeps staring at the display.

* * *

**Jon**

Jon sighs, rolling onto his front to prop himself up on his elbows to look down at the bright screen in the dark.

The turn from talk about love life to work life, though a little disappointing, is a relief. He shouldn’t have engaged with that, and especially not with Alys sleeping next to him, but she’s been as distant as he’s felt recently, and it was just a little harmless flirtation. Not even that really. Just enough to panic and turn the discussion back to others and this person’s poor tastes in restaurants.

**Kyra Snow**  
@kyr_snw  
  
  
and then some dick came along to criticise you?   
  
23/09/2020, 23:58  
i think he tried to make up for it  
  
also that dick seems to be quite passionate about the proper work environments. how come?  
  
24/09/2020, 00:03  
he can be quite passionate about a lot of things  
  
some might consider it a bit of a problem  
  
what about you? What caused the frustration?  
  
24/09/2020, 00:08  
lemme tell you this: passion is NEVER the problem. only those who cannot handle it.  
  
and about the frustration, let's just say it is a steady companion when working for your father  
  
24/09/2020, 00:11  
ah, that I can understand, you have my sympathy  
  
I have no advice - I’m a huge disappointment to mine.  
  
24/09/2020, 00:13  
and I have to say, I admire your strength if he’s anything like mine  
  
24/09/2020, 00:14

Wow, that got a bit real very quickly after he’d told himself to keep things vague. He really isn’t in the habit of opening up to people online, or even in real life. Not since Robb left him alone anyway. He’ll barely even talk to Alys about his dad. Maybe he should be deleting all of this. When you delete messages on twitter does it delete them for both of you?

There’s nothing he can think of to add on and take away any of the seriousness of the conversation. In real life he’d have forced a laugh or tried to joke it away by now.

What is she going to say to this? He should have left it on a question to further the conversation maybe. It is getting late though and it’s also a bit stupid of him to be so desperate for a response he’s just laid here waiting for it to appear.

thanks I guess. though disappointment is still an understatement on my side. it’s rather that my existence is an open insult to him  
  
today I won a big pitch that brings him a ton of money and all he says is ‘and for that you spent two weeks preparing?’  
  
going through blood, sweat, and tears he takes quite literally  
  
24/09/2020, 00:20  
Shit  
  
I’m sorry to hear that  
  
I hope you had someone to drown your frustrations with?  
  
though I can’t imagine you’d be alone unless you wanted to be  
  
24/09/2020, 00:23  
not that I can really imagine you or whatever, obviously. I don’t know you, but you seem pretty cool.  
  
24/09/2020, 00:24

Jon cringes, that last message probably just made the whole thing worse.

He really did just intend to express some sympathy for the situation, but he’s terrible at that even in person. Always just freezes up. Maybe awkwardly pats a shoulder or strokes an arm depending on the person. Offering a drink he can do, but you can’t exactly do that over the internet. So instead he’s fallen into making a fool out of himself and turning into a bumbling mess even though he’s not spoken a word. It should be much easier to edit what he’s saying in writing than it seems to be.

you don’t seem too bad either 😉  
  
24/09/2020, 00:27

Jon blinks. He’s gotten that smiley wink back, and he likes it a little too much. He closes his eyes when he presses the emoji on his side, and peeks with only one eye open to send the message, feeling his heart thud in his chest. This is ridiculous, he can’t pretend he’s not doing this.

good to know I don’t seem ‘too bad’ 😉  
  
maybe I can improve that rating if I refrain from publicly slating your taste  
  
24/09/2020, 00:29  
but no such a nice chat if you didn't do it, right?  
  
I need my beauty sleep now though.  
  
still looking forward to learning more about your tastes and passions sometime.  
  
24/09/2020, 00:33   
you too  
  
goodnight  
  
**24/09/2020, 00:35**

Finally, he pushes the phone beneath his pillow, lies down, and wills himself to fall to sleep before he ends up going to work on no sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! Thanks for reading and we've loved your comments 💜
> 
> It's time for some of that real life we talked about

**Theon**

He gets out of Asha’s Mercedes, straightens the wrinkles on his suit, and takes in his surroundings. Even though he’d preferred to come with the bike, one look from her had been enough and he knew it was out of the question.

“So that's it?” The sneer on her lips shows she’s little enthusiastic about this project like she is with all his others, with her hands in the pockets of her own black suit, her gaze directed at the house in front of them.

It’s old and broken and Theon feels pity for the people who live in it, although he knows that it has a much greater meaning for the city than its shabby appearance might suggest. Lots of well-known people had already rented an apartment here. Trystane Truefyre and his followers allegedly planned the riot of King’s Landing in one of the rooms, or so it is told at least. Still one of the reasons why the city rents some of its apartments to destitute families. _Has_ rented though because this has come to an end now. 

Otherwise they wouldn't be standing here.

“You don’t feel bad already for putting some of these poor bastards on the street, do you?” She bumps against his shoulder and he staggers a little.

“Don't be ridiculous,” he snaps back.

But the truth is, he actually does. His morals and ethics yet another prize to rise in the recognition of his father. Hope dies last or something like that. 

And without meaning to, his thoughts go back to the stranger from last night. A man upset about only one far too expensive steak at a questionable grill house. Though Theon had done some research over his morning coffee and the circumstances at the restaurant were _in fact_ quite unfortunate. But if the guy knew what they’d planned at this place, his rant would be by far greater than yesterday’s little critic. He’d probably block him. 

_No_ , block Kyra. Because there is no _him_ in all this. Just a guy and a girl discussing their city's offers on culinary variety. Theon tries and fails to put aside the thought that maybe there was something more.

Usually he's quite good at fooling himself, but this time …

It's just this strange feeling he had while writing those messages, maybe call it an urge to confess. Increasing even after Kyra went back to bed and left him there, lulled into the illusion of finding an ally. A feeling of intimacy, of familiarity, like he was talking to a friend, someone who understood him, someone like …

As always he doesn't dare finish this thought. Though it seems this small bit was already enough.

Like he has conjured it up with it, the ghosts of the past or something like that, saying so if he were superstitious, which he _really_ is not. Still, his heart drops and his chest tightens as he spots the person just coming out of the building, dark hair and that stern look on his face. He’d recognize it among thousands.

Hastily, Theon turns around and closes his eyes as he feels panic rising, tries to calm himself by taking a few deep breaths. It helps just moderately. Why here? Why now? He tries to recall all the exercises he has practiced for so long, but they seem to have slipped out of his brain all at once.

He is back there, standing by the coffin.

Almost ten years have passed and still, he can hear them, can see them, will never forget the expression in their eyes. Reproachful, desperate, sad. Catelyn’s screams echoing through the funeral hall. Ned Stark doing all he could to keep himself upright for his family, for his children around him who did not understand what was happening. Why their brother was gone and their mother didn't stop screaming.

For it was Theon's fault and even now Snow's the only one who knows.

Then there’s a hand on his arm bringing him back to reality. “Hey, you all right?”

But he’s incapable of responding.

“Theon? What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” With a jerk of his shoulder, he shakes off her hand, blinks a few times, swallows hard. “It's nothing, just ... just circulation. I didn't sleep well.”

“Circulation?”

“Yes, fucking circulation,” he rasps.

“Okay?” 

Of course, she doesn’t buy it. Still watches him with her eyes narrowed as he looks briefly at the entrance, then back at his sister, then back at the door. But to his relief he’s gone, gone again vanished into nothing, just like he’d appeared.

Though the feeling in Theon’s chest, one he’s been trying to suppress for so so long, it sticks to him for the rest of the day.

* * *

**Jon**

The first thing Jon does in the morning is to look for notifications on his phone, but none of them is the one he really wants. He moves around the apartment, showers, dresses, and eats a very boring breakfast with coffee as though on autopilot, so it isn’t a surprise when he catches himself with tie skew-whiff and toothpaste by his lips in the lift’s mirror. Even this is showing its age; dark spots around the edges, while the lift itself rattles and clunks worryingly at each floor. He’s surprised he’s don’t been trapped in it ever over the past two years. There are plenty who stick to taking the stairs.

“Morning,” Gilly greets him by the reception downstairs, looking weary as she comes in from her nightshift. “You alright?”

Jon nods, taking another much-needed gulp from the coffee cup in his hand. “Yeah, fine. Just a bit tired.”

“You work too hard,” she accuses him, despite her own work. For her, it comes with the territory. With nothing keeping Jon chained to his desk thirteen hours straight it won’t be seen the same way.

He flashes a wry smile. This is probably one of the few times it’s nothing to do with work, but true, he does bring it on himself. Something people are quick to point out. Though usually, it’s that he can’t handle not having the final word in an argument rather than hanging on for attention from a stranger.

Maybe that will be it now, maybe it's the odd time in which he has had the last word and really doesn’t want it to end there. The truth is, he has no reason to spark up another conversation. Unless maybe he goes to The Maiden Fare. Then what? Say ‘guess where I am - I thought of you’. He has a girlfriend for fucks sake.

Is it strange he feels as little guilt as he does? Possibly. It emphasises that nagging feeling he’s been having that they’ve been growing apart. Well, sort of. It’s started to feel like they’re mostly just friends. It’s comfortable, that’s the thing. Maybe that’s just what happens. Maybe it should be a positive thing?

“How about you?” Jon asks, remembering to have some manners at least. He can be prone to forgetting to ask after others. “How’s the new job?”

She shrugs. “It’s ok, pays the rent I guess.”

As he walks outside, he pulls his bag strap over onto his opposite shoulder and, with the feeling of eyes on him, he looks out onto the pavement. What, or rather who, he sees there has him almost trip on the next step down. Even with his back to him, he’d know that posture anywhere, and the brief glimpse of his profile. Even without Asha stood next to him, he’d know him a mile off. Even after all these years. 

Maybe he should shout to him, say hello. Let bygones be bygones and all that shit, but he’s tired and late for work as it is, and Greyjoy is clearly not looking to reconnect. The last thing he needs right now is to dredge up old and uncomfortable memories. Seeing him dressed in a suit already has his mind reliving the last time he’d seen him, horror-struck at Robb’s funeral.

It’s funny how sometimes once you are reminded of something it plays on your mind, you begin to find it all over the place. Not that there was a possibility that he’d bump into Theon and not think of Robb, even if he hadn’t had last night, of course.

Forcing himself to keep his head down, pretending he hasn’t seen the ghost of the past out on his street, he walks in the opposite direction, and subsequently, to the further away bus stop. It's no wonder that he’s in a foul mood once he reaches his office, muttering under his breath and various emails in his inbox as Sam watches with apprehension.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” Jon snaps at him. 

Sam mouths a disbelieving ‘ok’ as he turns back to his screen. “Sorry I asked.”

“No,” groans Jon, rubbing at his face. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

His friend chuckles. “Up all night picking fights with idiots on the internet again?”

“Wh-” Jon frowns. How has this come to be a defining character trait? “No. Not really.”

“Not really?” Sam quirks a brow at him.

Leaning back in his chair just a little, he reaches towards the door to the small office he shares with Sam and pushes it closed. “Well that’s how it started out,” he admits. “Or that’s what I thought at first, anyway.” When Sam just waits for further information he holds out his phone for him to read the messages, just the beginning. He really doesn’t want to have those conversations with people.

“It carries on like this?” Sam asks when Jon whips his phone back away.

“More or less… gets a little more serious… a little worse maybe,” he answers with a grimace, remembering his wink. “Gods, what was I thinking? I’m a terrible person.”

“It’s fine, you don’t even know her -”

“That makes it worse!”

“- you can easily have no more to do with her,” Sam points out, ever wise.

“I guess…” he concedes, feeling a little glum about it. “Anyway, then when I left this morning - do you remember that friend of my brother I told you about? - he was just standing there. Right outside.” _Looking as annoyingly good as ever._

“Did you speak to him?”

“No,” Jon shakes his head, turning back towards his work in the swivel chair, “I have no idea what he was even doing round there.”

* * *

**Theon**

“Really? That bad?” Patrek watches him over the rim of his glass as he takes another sip.

 _Worse_ he wants to reply but Theon just nods, and swallows, reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table to keep his hands busy and show Patrek that he really _really_ wants to change the subject. Having said it more times than he can count.

It's dreadful enough he felt like that in the first place, seventeen all over again, on the verge of losing his mind after he’d already lost the only person he really cared about, who really cared about _him_. And all it takes is just fucking Jon Snow emerging from nowhere to send him straight back to it. And that without even speaking to him, without even looking at him. Just being _there_.

How his father might react if he tells him that all those therapy sessions were after all just a waste of his hard-earned money? Probably he wouldn't even care. Hadn't back then, if it wasn’t for his mother.

Then there is a rustle at the door and they both turn their heads.

“Hey guys,” Kyra says as she kicks off her heels. They slide to their usual place beside Theon's biker boots, as she crosses the room. She takes a stand next to Patrek and it’s just one look from her for Theon to see in her eyes that she knows something is wrong. 

“What happened?”

He gives her a half-hearted grin, “nothing... just stress at work.” 

They share another glance for they both know what it really means is _I'll tell you later_. Unlike Patrek though, she understands it, always does. Where the smile he gives her for that is way more honest than his first. And still smiling, he watches her as she knocks down his drink and then makes her way to the shower, her narrow hips swaying, her perfect ass covered by that tight black dress he has ripped off her body so many times already.

Once she is gone and they hear the rush of water Patrek clears his throat and demands his attention. “Seriously? She's got keys?”

Theon just shrugs. “So what? You’ve got a key too, don’t you?”

His friend's face shows he thinks that’s hardly the same. Of course, he does, everybody does. But actually it is. “Why don't you just put a ring on her finger and that’s it, huh? She is hot, she is funny, and obviously she likes to spend time with you. There aren't many people on the planet to whom all this applies.”

Theon doesn't know what to say to this. Asking if Patrek is an idiot maybe? Instead, he sinks even deeper into the cushions of his couch, puts his head in his neck with a heavy sigh. Then another person comes to his mind to whom this maybe partially applies. At least he hopes so. Actually, he ridicules himself.

He doesn't even know him, doesn't even know if he’s in one of those photographs Theon found on his profile, no clue if he _is_ hot, or not. But funny he is somehow, and he seemed to like spending time with him, didn't he? Well, if you can call it that, chatting with some random stranger on Twitter for a few hours on a Wednesday evening.

But he liked it, and whenever Theon likes something, he must have it again. Must have it again and again, until it annoys him, until he is satisfied and finally has enough. And right now he needs just that, someone to distract him from funerals and judgmental grumpy faces, from wedding plans and Kyra and her damn keys. So he reaches for her bag and starts to fumble for her phone.

Opposite him Patrek arches his brows, “and what the fuck is that about?”

“Just checking something,” Theon mumbles as he opens the app, can’t help but grin as he flips to another window and last night's chat reappears. When he sees the winking faces, as an unexplainable rush shoots through his body. Because _yes_ , this is exactly what he needs right now. 

Just a little flirting, a little attention, but above all just not being himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to make things easier to read from now on we've made their text messages (not twitter dms) different colours - Jon is green, Theon is purple, and Kyra is a kind of coral colour. Let me know if any are difficult to read. If anyone is having difficulties with the messages in general let me know (you can do by anon if you want on here or [tumblr](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/ask)). I'm happy to do the extra coding if someone needs/wants it.

**Jon**

“What’s up with you?” Arya nudges him with her boney elbow, rocking the glass of red wine in his hand dangerously as she collapses onto the sofa cushion next to him. “You look even more miserable than usual.”

Jon eyes his sister carefully and then Sansa and Bran arguing over which film is going on tonight, trying to decide how much to divulge.

Lowering his voice, he practically talks into his drink. “I saw Theon this morning”

Arya raises her eyebrows, pulling her legs up under her. “Oh wow, where? Are you sure it was him?”

“Yeah,” Jon rolls his eyes, “I’m pretty sure I know Greyjoy when I see him.”

“Alright, snappy.” She chuckles. “Did you speak to him?”

“No, I did not speak to him, have you mistaken me for someone else?”

Arya holds up her hands defensively. “Alright, alright. Where were you?”

“Outside the flats, no idea what he was doing there. Looked so out of place. Posh suit, fancy car, that kind of thing… “ he tails off, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket.

**Kyra Snow**  
@kyr_snw  
  
  
hey stranger, in order to not give you a heart attack, i thought i’d let u know that i'm about to head to the seven swords for a few drinks. hope there are no complaints about that? 😉  
  
24/09/2020, 20:17  
Me? Make complaints? I don’t know where you’ve got that from.  
  
Enjoy, I hear they make a good cocktail.  
  
24/09/2020, 20:20  


“What are you _smiling_ about?” Arya asks, trying to peer at the messages over his shoulder as he types and attempts to deflect her. “Jon! Who is this?”

“No one, just a friend,” he says, intentionally vague, as he shrugs her off. “Brat,” he then calls her despite her now being in her twenties and purely because he knows she doesn’t like it. What are siblings for if not teasing?

maybe u come over and we enjoy it together?  
  
24/09/2020, 20:22  


The suggestion surprises him enough to let his guard down, allowing for an excitable ‘ooo’ to leave Arya’s mouth when she spots it.

“Get off,” he half laughs at her.

“What are you going to say?”

“The truth, that I’m busy.”

“Not the truth, that you have a girlfriend?” Arya questions, putting on a disapproving voice.

Jon shrugs. “She’s just being friendly.” That’s what it could be for all he knows. Right?

“Right,” scoffs Arya sarcastically as he gets up from the sofa in search of more wine that he’s desperately in need of and a little privacy for a moment or two.

At the kitchen counter, he ignores the argument Cat and Rickon are engaged in over whether he’s allowed out with one of the Mormont girls, considered to be the current bad influence. 

It’s eerily familiar, and Jon would wager Cat will always be far more adamant about these things after Robb. Not that it would ever help matters. Rickon doesn’t have quite the same need to please his mother as Robb did, or rather he knows very little would affect his status as the baby of the family, and it's not like Robb was ever inclined to listen when it came to Theon.

sounds good, but I really shouldn’t - at a family thing  
  
more frustrations to drown today?  
  
24/09/2020, 20:37  


Having refilled his glass, he leaves the pair of them to it, flashing a sympathetic smile at Ned who has been caught up in it all, and heads back to settle down to watch whatever compromise has been made, taking care not to sit too close to Arya this time.

even more than yesterday. ran into someone i really didn't wanna see.  
  
24/09/2020, 20:46  
and that was worse than the ungrateful dad?  
  
they must be something  
  
24/09/2020, 20:49  
oh they are.  
  
maybe u know this too, just that one person who can rile u up with a single glance? only negative memories attached to them and whenever u see them, they just bring out the worst in u ...  
  
sorry ... don't know why i wrote that  
  
24/09/2020, 21:08  


How has he come to find someone who he relates to so well like this? All through one moment of annoyance. Right when he probably needed to the most.

Truth be told, even if this is something he shouldn’t be doing, at least it distracts from getting hung up on Theon fucking Greyjoy again - who he _really_ did not want to see this morning, but he resists bringing in his own drama when someone else clearly needs more of a vent.

I know exactly what you mean  
  
don’t be sorry, you wrote it because you’re upset and sometimes it's easier to say these thing to people you don’t know  
  
I know I’m always a little more likely to be freer in writing anyway  
  
do you see them a lot?  
  
24/09/2020, 21:14  
haven't for a long time  
  
and the worst ... somehow I hope it happens again  
  
happy to have you to distract me though 😉  
  
sorry, i'm dunk i guess  
  
24/09/2020, 21:57  
drunk  
  
fuck  
  
24/09/2020, 21:58  


Shit. He sets the glass down on the side table next to him, heart racing, and wondering if he’s making too much out of this still. It doesn’t stop him from encouraging it a touch, or not dissuading it at least. He’s maybe had a tad more wine than he should have done himself if he wants to make better decisions.

ha, gods, I hope you’re not like me. I have a habit of developing unfortunate crushes on people that rile me up  
  
not that that’s any of my business  
  
sorry, I may have had a glass or two of something too  
  
did you have a distraction in mind?  
  
24/09/2020, 22:01  
i actually have  
  
r u alone?  
  
24/09/2020, 22:43  


Hastily, he excuses himself to head to the bathroom with Ayra shouting up the stairs after him. Might have been a giveaway to take the drink too. 

Perched on the edge of the bath, he turns his attention back to the messages.

sort of  
  
Thought I’d take a breather. Bit of a mad house here.  
  
24/09/2020, 22:49  
what r u wearing?  
  
24/09/2020, 22:51  


Jon looks into the mirror in front of him, taking in the very mundane outfit of his favoured white t-shirt and jeans. What answer is he supposed to give to this question? If he answers honestly where does that leave the conversation? And what would make it sound better? It’s not even like he can be with a ‘very little’ kind of response. She knows he’s with family.

what would you like me to be wearing? 😉  
  
I’m joking, nothing special  
  
24/09/2020, 22:53  
  
24/09/2020, 22:54  
nice shirt 😅  
  
but i think it's better if u take it off  
  
24/09/2020, 22:56  


He very nearly drops the phone into the sink in front of the mirror. This is going too far, but he can’t help but consider doing as he’s told. Maybe he would if he wasn’t so self conscious… or less of a wuss. She’s far too hot to keep interested. Is that an argument for or against? He’s not entirely sure himself.

I think it’s probably better if we leave it to your imagination  
  
24/09/2020, 22:57  
in my imagination u suck my cock  
  
24/09/2020, 23:00  


That’s when he does in fact drop his phone into the sink, and watches it helplessly as it ricochets off the edge and falls screen first onto the porcelain. He daren’t even turn it over. He doesn’t dare move until the hammering on the door starts and forces him to.

“Jon!” Rickon huffs, still annoyed from the argument and being barred from leaving the house. “What’s taking you so long in there? If I have to stay and watch this stupid film so do you.”

* * *

**Theon**

When he wakes up the next morning it seems there’s a woodpecker in his bedroom. A woodpecker right next to his head trying with all his strength to prepare his burrow for the winter. And it stinks, it stinks so much that his stomach almost turns over, of fried eggs and bacon. Which he actually quite likes, but not today and not in this state. Not with the woodpecker next to his head and to top it all off, Jennifer Lopez screaming at the top of her lungs from the kitchen that she's still a girl from the damn fucking Bronx.

With a deep growl he forces his eyes open. He looks around the room, notices that it’s almost lunchtime. It is a relief to realize that there is at least no woodpecker, but that he just has terrible hangover. A small pleasure, as the rest, however, remains exactly the same.

Theon throws the blanket aside and regrets it directly, too fast, too cold. Even more annoyed than before, he catches the biggest jumper he can find from the closet and starts his walk of shame into the kitchen. 

He’s entering just as JLo’s about to give her grand finale. “Alexa, stop it!”

The music dies in an instant and Kyra turns on her heels, spatula in one hand, coffee in the other, and if looks could kill, well, he’d lose at least a few limbs that’s for sure.

Her eyes are only two narrow slits and there slowly his memory comes back. He remembers that they were in a bar and that she’s angry because they argued, but unfortunately he can’t remember why. And little embarrassed by that he runs his hand through his black hair or at least tries to, since it’s full of knots his fingers get caught in the long strands. Drowned god, he must look as pathetic as he feels.

Kyra confirms this as she doesn't even snap at him but just rolls her eyes and devotes herself back to her breakfast, while he drags his feet to the coffee machine and pours himself a cup, his head still pounding. 

Less than five minutes later she takes a seat next to him at the kitchen table. A big plate with eggs is put in front of him and Theon screws up his nose at it, but Kyra ignores that. She just keeps looking at him, thin lips and furious eyes. “So?”

“Uhm,” he bites his lip, “sorry?”

“And?”

“Won’t do it again?”

She clicks her tongue and then crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Do you even know what you did?”

Though Theon knows just one thing, and that’s that his head can not bear it if she starts screaming, and also that saying _no_ is definitely not an option. So he takes a small sip from his cup, gives her his best puppy eyes over the rim and hardly noticeable shakes his head. Unfortunately it’s not enough.

“You stole my cell phone dumbass!”

Theon pulls a face at the volume and presses his fingers against his forehead. “Ah. Please, curse quietly for Christ’s sake.”

“And then you send some sex posts to some random strangers from. My. ACCOUNT!”

“What?”

“There!” She slides the phone towards him, and suddenly Theon knows exactly what to expect even before he has read it.

“Oh shit.”

“Exactly.” 

It goes without saying that _shit_ has two completely different reasons for both of them. Theon knows Kyra’s just pissed because it looks like she's a catfish to hook up with random guys on Twitter, but Theon's shit goes way beyond that. Because the truth is, somehow he liked the guy.

It felt good to have someone to tell all his crap without being judged, without having to keep up any sort of image. Someone who obviously relates to him. And he seemed funny and smart and they had a connection, didn’t they? Shit it's been so long since he felt anything like this. Why the fuck did he screw this up?

Of course he knows the answer. Because he always does, sooner or later.

“Shit, why have I done this?” His words are nor more than a breath and maybe it’s that or the obvious desperation in his eyes that Kyra's expression softens as she reaches across the table and pats his cheek. 

* * *

**Jon**

Alys leans across the table to set a G&T just in front of him where he’s sat finishing off some work.

She’s already a little irritated with him for working at the weekends and to him it’s clear she’s becoming less tolerant as the hours go on, despite hiding it relatively well. “What happened to it anyway?”

“Hmmm?” Jon asks, looking up from the laptop in front of him to see her indicating towards the phone with its broken screen. “Oh,” he swallows the lump from his throat, “dropped it in the sink last night.”

“What?” She laughs.

It really is as stupid as it sounds, but maybe not quite as stupid as he’s been.

 _Least it wasn’t the toilet_ , he thinks glumly. That’s a positive spin to put on it all.

Forcing a sheepish smile, he shrugs and chooses to lie because the truth really isn’t an option. “Rickon surprised me hammering on the door.”

“It’s a wonder you can still be surprised by such a thing,” she comments, and rightly so. He grew up in that house with its limited bathrooms and many children.

“True…” He takes a sip of the drink. Gods that’s good and much needed. Should probably lay off the booze for a while, but that’s not going to happen just yet. “Thanks,” he says to her, holding up the glass.

As much as he’d wanted to finish this before company arrives, it’s impossible to concentrate with where his head’s at. He’s constantly trying to catch up with what’s going on.

“What are you thinking?” The tone of her voice tells him she’s very much aware of a looming anniversary. It’s probably what’s keeping her from closing the laptop’s lid on his fingers.

“Just… Rickon. He looks so much like him…“

“Do you want to cancel tonight? I’m sure no one will mind.”

“No, no it’s fine.” It’s too late for that now anyway, people will already be on their way. “I can’t not do anything for weeks at a time each year… Did I tell you I saw Theon Greyjoy yesterday?” He realises as he asks that he’s said this at least once already. “Sorry, of course I did…” he mutters, rubbing at his temples, “it’s just been an odd couple of days, that’s all.”

She squeezes his shoulder affectionately before wandering away to get ready for hosting.

“How were the family anyway?” He shouts through into the bedroom and turns his head briefly to watch her take off her shirt. It’s been some time since he did it for her.

He gets his answer after she’s pulled on a grey dress. “Same old, same old.”

“They’re worse than mine.”

He can hear her scoff even from where he’s sat. “The Starks maybe,” she responds, appearing back in the doorway and turning slightly to the side. “So?”

“So?”

In a tired voice, she asks, “how do I look?”

“Nice…” Jon answers and then quickly realises this wasn’t nearly quick nor confident enough. “Good I mean. Beautiful.” 

It’s true. After speaking to Sansa, he knows theoretically that he should apologise and explain that it's no excuse, but she always looks good, no matter what she’s wearing, but he imagines it will sound as cheesy out loud as it does in his head.

“You’re useless.”

“Thank you,” he says with a small grin.

It takes less than fifteen for the intercom to start buzzing, at which point he takes the opportunity to quickly flee to his room, stash the laptop, and change out of his work clothes into something a touch more laidback.

In the quiet of the bedroom, he thinks back on the messages from the night before again. He should probably at least delete them from his side.

The thing is, it's confusing more than anything. That final message was a reality check he should take heed of. What does he know about this person; other than they appear to live a rich social life and are incredibly relatable… if any of that was true. That and they’re quite the funny flirt.

what r u wearing? He should’ve known then.

Methodically, he goes back and begins to remove the DMs until it gets back to some of the ones that were of a more serious nature. They just feel so real. They were mostly unprompted. Unless this is someone he knows - possibly unlikely considering he initiated the contact - they wouldn’t have known that what would have hit a nerve. Sighing, he looks to the bedroom door. He’s going to regret this, he can tell already, thumbs hovering over the cracked glass.

**Kyra Snow**  
@kyr_snw  
  
  
I’m guessing that’s not you in the pic then?  
  
is there a reason I shouldn’t be blocking you?  
  
25/09/2020, 20:23  


Jon leaves the room to find Alys sat on the back of her sofa chatting happily with some of his friends. With all the confidence of a woman with three protective older brothers she takes no shit when Mance tries teasing her and has Sigorn eyeing her with admiration.

“You alright?” he asks, crossing over to the fridge to retrieve a beer and winking as he passes them bye. “I can chuck him out if you want.”

She laughs, her words sounding like a challenge to those around her. “You know me; I can handle myself.”

That she can.

“Hey, Jon,” Sam waves him over to where he stands with Jon’s neighbour, Gilly. He should hurry up and ask this girl out before he drives mad. “Have you heard this?”

“What?” Jon asks, pushing a hand into his pocket.

He’s expecting to be drawn into some tedious conversation about something Sam has latched on to purely because he fancies her, but Gilly licks her lip nervously, and glances around them like it's some big secret.

“This might not be true,” she says with her voice lowered. “But I heard the council is selling the building. Apparently it’s all been quite hush hush.”

“What?” Jon snaps. “They can’t do that. We haven’t even heard back about the application to get it listed. For fucks sake! Sorry, Gilly,” he says, spotting her shocked expression, “I know this isn’t your fault.”

On pulling his phone from his pocket to begin venting his anger, he comes face to face with a twitter notification. 

no  
  
but I really hope you won't  
  
or better, let's move to an account which is actually mine  
  
07123 456789  
  
25/09/2020, 20:41  


Knocking back more of the beer, he frowns. 

“Jon?” Sam asks, the pair of them watching him with concern.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he lies, waving his hand. “It’s just a rumour. I’ll look into it tomorrow. Thank you for letting me know.”

His attention shifts to Alys and how she laughs and sets a hand on Sigorn’s arm like whatever he’s said is the funniest thing anyone’s ever said, and takes another drink while he brings up his texts.

Seriously, not even their account?

With his chest tight with anger and apprehension, he pastes the number in and begins typing.

**Twit**  
  
**Today** 20:45  
you don’t make things easy  
  
do they know you were using their account?  
  
was the rest of it all lies too?  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Theon**

He’s lying on his couch, hair up in a messy bun, wearing his oldest pair of sweatpants, wrapped up in a yellow Microplush blanket, the one he only unpacks when he’s sure that nobody, really _nobody_ , comes to visit, and watches a replay of some old episode of GBBO. He knows it's quite pathetic that this is actually what his Saturday evening looks like, but it’s been a pathetic day and exactly how he feels. 

Every year this day is a pathetic day, if he thinks about it. Actually he'd already be drunk again. But only the pure idea of alcohol leads his stomach to revolt. Pathetic indeed. A glance at the clock shows him that there're just three hours left before he's about to honor his best friend with a damn cup of camomile tea.

When his phone buzzes a few seconds later, he needs a while to consider whether he should take the trouble to stretch and reach for it. It’s probably just Asha complaining about him cancelling their strategy meeting to prepare next week’s presentation. Something he really cannot deal with right now.

Finally he decides simply to have a look at it but not to reply. 

Theon snatches it from its place at his feet, unlocks the screen and then blinks several times, sitting up bolt upright all of a sudden. 

**Unknown**  
  
**Today** 20:45  
you don’t make things easy  
  
do they know you were using their account?  
  
was the rest of it all lies too?  
  


The number is unknown, but the words could hardly make it more obvious who's sent them. 

_was the rest of it all lies too?_

He stares at it as he feels his heartbeat accelerating. How he gets a little nervous, how a little smile appears on his face. Obviously there is something very wrong with him for he feels like this in the first place. But he’d been thinking about it all day long, moping about it, coming up with ideas to fix it and then throwing them over again. It's quite natural he's a bit overwhelmed now, isn't it?

Instead of replying, Theon opens a new window.

**The Missus**  
  
**Today** 20:51  
wtf ky?  
  
?  
  
why u gave him my number?  
  
ha! he wrote you!  
  
he did. so again … wtf?  
  
sorry not sorry. so what does he say?  
  
  
well … guess ur welcome darling 🍆  
  


He snorts and rolls his eyes although she cannot see it of course, then closes the chat. She’s no help and, sadly, he can' t think of anyone else who is. _He_ would have been though. But he cannot think about that now, doesn't want to, not yet at least. Instead he turns back to the message. 

**JT**  
  
**Today** 20:45  
was the rest of it all lies too?  
  
well … just one more thing …  
  


How best to put it without coming across as an idiot? Theon writes several lines, some too funny, some too serious. He also decides against the flirty variant and then simply says how it is.

i think it goes without saying I'm actually no girl?  
  
the rest was the sad truth though  
  


In the background Flora presents her chocolate cake, but to Theon's ears it is just a chaotic buzzing that he can't pay any attention to right now. His eyes are glued to the display of his phone. Waiting for a response, eager to see some more letters. The last time he was this caught up in something was at the solution of the twist at the end of Fight Club.

look  
  
when it comes down to it I don’t care if you're a girl or a guy. Nor do I care what’s in your pants. Maybe I overreacted, but I don’t appreciate being misled  
  
I like you, I’d like to carry on talking to you, but while we’re being honest  
  


Minutes pass like hours while he sees the three dots appear and disappear again and again. He likes him? That's a good thing, isn't it? But what's it he wants to be honest about then? What's the worst thing he can say though? 

Maybe he works for the government, which actually would be quite huge of a deal breaker. Or he's in fact some old granny, desperately looking for a little love in her last days. Or even worse ... he's vegan. 

I’m kinda with someone, which is part of the reason I freaked out  
  


The stab in his chest is unreasonable and yet it’s there. 

He’s in a relationship, of course he is. 

Tension leaves his body as he leans back and closes his eyes. He should have expected that, is a little ashamed that he did not. Most people his age are in a relationship, hell most people even younger than him are in a relationship. Why didn't he think of that? And somehow he is as well, isn't he? Maybe Patrek is right and he should really get his act together, maybe it took this stranger to realize that. 

It is a thought which should actually make him happy yet leaves him resigned and also quite bitter.

no worries, me too, kind of. A bit more open than yours I suppose but still …  
  
two random dudes talking about bars and complaining about their shitty dads?  
  


When he sees the three dots he is much less excited than before, even looks briefly at the TV to see that Flora had to leave the show despite her good performance, and glancing back at his own last message he can't help but accept that still somehow he'd hoped it'd be more.

**Jon**

It’s the best outcome he could’ve hoped for, isn’t it? It’s not like some random stranger was about to appeal to him to change his life or something. Which is not what he would’ve hoped for. Obviously.

How open is open anyway? Open enough that he’d use a girlfriend’s account to chat up guys? Shit, he really cannot compete with her if that’s the case. Not that that’s what he should be thinking about.

At a loss for what to do, the best thing he can think of as a possibility is to make a joke of it.

**Twit**  
  
yeah, as long as your cool with that  
  
I mean, you’ve seen my clothed body now, are you sure you can cope? 😉  
  
  
think the question is rather if you can cope 😉  
  


So that backfired then.

Jon chokes on his drink, enough to raise some eyebrows and to have to quickly turn off the screen when Dalla moves to pat him on the back. Fucking hell. It’s a good job he has no Tully genes in him like his siblings, or cousins rather, or he’s under no delusions that he’d be anything other than bright red right now.

None of the clever responses he can think to that are appropriate for someone who’s just fessed up to being in a relationship.

well that certainly teaches me a lesson  
  
I’m glad we cleared things up  
  


He stands by the wall, attempting to come up with something else to say. He should get back to his guests, but he’s desperate to make sure this doesn’t dwindle and peter out. How is he ever going to keep this guy interested - even as a friend?

I have people round at the min, but I’m supposed to see the shitty dad tomorrow so I may come looking for some solace if that’s good with you  
  


Chewing his lip, and really wishing he had something better to say, he takes one last look at that photo and finishes his drink.

When Sam spots that he’s come away from his phone he shrugs. “You never know, it might be just a rumour,” he says, to which Gilly nods.

“Yeah,” she agrees, palm of her hand face up, “it's not like there’s been anything official said.”

“I’ll find out what’s going on.”

Alys slides up to his side. “What’s going on with what?”

“There's, um, a rumour that everyone’s going to get evicted,” says Jon, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh,” laughs one of Alys’ friends just behind her, a girl with garish green hair, “I guess this makes things easier to decide who moves where.”

Jon frowns, sensing a mounting tension headache. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I think she just means to say we’ve been together a while now…” Alys says delicately, “it’s probably about time we considered moving in together anyway?’

always there for whatever you want to complain about  
  


* * *

“Are you listening to me?” Rhaegar snaps at him from across the table two nights later, right as Rhaenys kicks him in the shin to get him to pay attention and look up from the napkin he’s playing with.

“Yes.” He’s not though, he’s thinking about how long he has to stick this out. Whether or not he can get away with leaving with no desert. And the ongoing communication with the twitter guy. “I’ve heard you.” Jon sighs. “You don’t think she’s right for me.”

“It’s time you stopped messing around and settled down with someone who understands you.”

Jon purses his lips. This sounds like a tall order. “Who understands me?” he asks, instantly regretting it.

“Someone with a similar background who knows what it means to have a family like ours. Who will know what to expect when it comes to your work life.”

“I’m sorry, my work life?”

“That too. It's time for you to get serious and knuckle down.”

Jon snorts. “Alys has more experience of this than I do,” he mutters and looks up to see Rhaegar’s eyes narrow. This is a problem in itself. No doubt he’d prefer a more traditionally minded daughter in law.

“Stop with this pretence,” Rhaegar tells him scornfully while attempting to gain the attention of the waitress, “you’ve lived in that slum long enough - “

“Slum?” Jon asks, indignant. It might not be the height of luxury, but this is going a bit far.

“You could be earning enough to live in any neighbourhood you wanted to.”

They’re back to this again. Stop doing what you enjoy. Start making money for the family.

 _Good news, I won’t be living there much longer,_ he thinks of saying. _I’m going to move in with her and then we’ll see what you think to that._

“And that girl, she’s not right for you.”

Jon sets his jaw. She’s a fucking Karstark. They’re not nobodies. Not that that matters to him or probably the majority of the sane population.

With Rhaegar's attention shifting to his other two children, Jon slips his phone from his pocket under the table.

**Twit**  
  
Don’t suppose you’re from one of ‘those’ families are you? before I move in with my girlfriend out of spite  
  
‘hey dad, I found myself a socialite… just one thing...’  
  
sorry, ignore that. I’m just in a bad mood  
  
np.  
  
and if by 'those' families you mean yacht in the harbor and annual subscription with our therapist, then yes we're EXACTLY that kind of family.   
  
assume your meeting’s going great huh?  
  
next time i’m at one of those god awful events I’m forced to go to i’m going to looking for who carries their tux particularly well  
  
I would say and who looks as pissed off as me but I have a feeling you might be one of those people that can smile through it all  
  
It’s wonderful, I’ve only been criticised for all my life decisions  
  
I’m not sure what he can go for next  
  
I’ve got a break now at least, it’s my sister’s turn  
  
good for you to have a sister who shares your suffering then  
  
mine rather hops on the rant train and shares a seat with my dad  
  
so how high are my chances to get a pic of you in that tux?  
  
just for comparison of course 😉  
  
we each take too much after out mothers’ sides  
  
tux wise - relatively high, if you play your cards right. It’s not one of those nights tonight  
  
actually, I’m not even wearing a shirt and tie - shock horror  
  
I’m afraid I went with the turtleneck suit jacket combo this eve, almost solely to mess with him so it will have to wait  
  
all very mature, of course  
  
of course u r  
  
but tbh  
  
wouldn't mind a pic of the turtleneck either  
  
we’ll see about it after I’ve come out the other side of this next rant I can sense brewing  
  
speak soon x  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Theon**

“Stop squirming like that.”

Theon peers to his side and watches his sister's frown, holds her gaze for the few seconds necessary, then darts his eyes back at the entrance of the hall, while he tries hard on making his knee stop bouncing. But he fails. His body is looking just too desperately for a vent for all the tension, for all the mess that’s been in his head lately. Because it’s really been a bunch of weird days this past week.

He’s decided to marry Kyra, which is actually good, even if it still freaks him out somehow. He bought a ring this morning though. And then there's this stranger with whom Theon is already much too attached, even if they don't really know each other, even if he has a girlfriend … like himself! He still tends to forget this last part, even though said girlfriend will probably be his fiancée by the end of the week.

Yet right now more than ever he’s hoping so badly for the familiar buzz of his phone to distract him from the purgatory he is about to run into. But it remains quiet.

And so Theon is doomed to keep staring at the door as he’s watching more and more people fill the room. Men in suits, women with screaming children on their arms, construction workers, managers. They’re all coming to hear how he’s about to change their future, for better or worse, depending on the size of their wallet. Then finally, _he_ arrives and Theon straightens up.

It doesn't take long until their eyes meet, of course not, Theon is sitting on a fucking stage for Christ’s sake. Still, it is as if someone tips a bucket of ice water over his head, those eyes full of hate and so cold, full of contempt. It takes all his strength to hold his gaze and hide his insecurity, as he forces a small smirk on his face while Snow takes a seat in one of the front rows.

At least this time he is prepared for it, expecting him to show up. Theon knows what is at stake and so he blocks every thought of the past. If there is one thing that keeps him going right now, it is his will not to fail, especially not while bloody Jon Snow is watching.

“Well look at that,” whispers Asha in his ear, “can't say it surprises me though.”

Waiting a few more seconds until he detaches himself from those grey eyes, Theon finally turns slightly, his arm resting on the back of his chair. “And how come?”

“Oh please,” she sneers, “it was him you saw last week, wasn't it?”

“Well … it was.” Because there is no point in lying to her. Instead, he crooks a brow, “so?”

“I hope this won't become a problem.” Her expression says she thinks it already is one.

Theon has no choice but to answer as always, even though his broad grin is as fake as the small one he just offered Snow. But still, it remains his weapon of choice, just the easiest way to silence her, if only for now. “Trust me, it won't.”

She has no chance to give her remark as the owner of the building takes the stage, grabs the microphone and greets the people present.

He is a fat man with far too much hair on his chin and too little on his head, and it seems his popularity is similarly unbalanced. Theon watches the audience, careful not to catch Snow's gaze. He sees the suits nodding in agreement and most families shaking their heads. When the speaker finally gets to the actual point, the words, demolition, moving out and new construction fill the room, the reaction is as varied as expected.

Hands rise, questions and objections are shouted through the room. Just then Theon risks a quick glance at Snow. He seems even more angry than usual, his jaw clenched so tight that Theon’s quite certain, he is a regular visitor at his orthodontist. Shoulders straightened. That stern look on his face. He filled out a little, didn’t he?

“Mr. Greyjoy?”

Something sharp rams into his side, followed by a cough. “Ahem.”

He flinches, sees Asha's glance of disapproval, the sharp thing was probably her elbow. When he turns then again, he notices the microphone held directly in front of his face. It's only a few seconds, yet he does it, he peers in Snow’s direction just briefly. The worst thing he could do, for when their eyes meet he spots there a fucking grin on his damn stupid face.

_That bastard._

Theon grabs the microphone with little more force than necessary, snatches it out of the hand of the speaker without paying any further attention to him and gets on his feet. Eyes only fixed on Snow. Perhaps he's never been as resolute in his life as now, determined to wipe that shitty grin off his face if it is the last thing he does. 

Right before he starts the presentation, Theon gives him a last smirk of his own. And sees, to his delight, how Snow's grin falters somewhat. Good, because if it's war the git wants, he can damn well have it.

* * *

**Jon**

It’s a good fucking job Jon was warned about who was behind all this just before arriving. Too much notice and he’d have probably tracked down Greyjoy and killed the smug bastard before the meeting even had a chance to start, too late and well… how would he have reacted had he walked into this shitshow to see him up on the stage? He probably wouldn’t have just sat down quietly, that's for sure.

Now, he’s sat fuming in the front seat, so on edge that he can feel himself shaking and his heart race. He needs to say something. He’s going to say something. But will he be able to get the words out? His only consolation is that before he’d gotten up to spew his lies, Greyjoy did at least have the decency to look nervous… Jon may have enjoyed that a little too much.

Those around him nod along to this bullshit, even Gilly sat beside him, taken in by the idea that the building is no longer fit for purpose and the project will provide jobs, that they’ll be able to benefit from affordable housing in the long run, all that rubbish, it's just hot air is what it is.

Greyjoy can talk though, can’t he? He’s always been charismatic, but it's like he was born to do this. Jon would say he should go into politics, but the last thing he wants is Theon having that level of control.

Mother have mercy, he looks good in a suit though.

Jon has his hand up the minute the speech is over with and questions are being taken from the floor. Not at all surprisingly, Theon looks everywhere but where Jon’s sitting. He’s doing this to wind him up, he knows this, but man is it working. And so he’s forced to watch Theon’s long legs striding back and forwards, and becomes perhaps a little too fixated on the hand tucked in his trouser pocket. 

It’s only once a woman says, “sorry, I think that young man in the front row has been waiting longer than me,” that Greyjoy admits defeat and addresses him.

“Yes, you, the gentleman in the burgundy jumper,” he says, smirking as he gestures towards Jon.

Really? What a fucking wanker.

“Grey-,” Jon pauses, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “Mr. Greyjoy,” he begins in the most condescending voice he can muster, watching Theon nod and take a sip of water, “are you aware of the building's historical and architectural significance, and the petition to have it listed as a protected structure? And, therefore, are you aware that you are planning to destroy what is believed by many to be a cultural landmark?”

"Yeah, I heard. But honestly, I don't think it's gonna have that much of an impact. Only someone who doesn't know much about architecture would actually call it that." He looks at his designer watch that probably costs more than Jon's monthly rent and then smirks again. "Sorry, time's up. But good question though." And then he fucking winks at him!?

As people begin to filter out of the room, Jon stands put, arms crossed over his chest; waiting for Greyjoy to quit this pretense of gathering up his materials and for them to be left, relatively, alone. He eyes Asha carefully, wondering whether she’ll leave them to it or stick around.

She probably should, to stop Jon strangling the git with his own overpriced tie, if for nothing else.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Jon hisses at him.

“Not now, Snow. I don’t have the time nor energy for amateur dramatics.”

Determined not to let him get away, Jon places himself between Theon and the door and almost has him walk straight into him. “Not now? When?” Jon asks, almost dizzy from how good he smells. “We’ve not seen each other in almost a decade and all you’ve got for me is ‘not now’?”

"There's a reason we haven't seen each other since _then_ ," Theon grits through his teeth, "and now get out of my fucking way."

Having expected to only ever tiptoe around the subject, Jon hesitates and steps out of his path.

“This is pure gentrification,” Jon says as he walks past, eventually finding his voice again. “You know I’m going to fight it every step of the way, don’t you?”

Theon swings round, pointing a finger at him and coming up close. “You’re a fucking hypocrite. Quit this ‘one of the people’ act. We both know all you have to do is call daddy and you’re minted.”

“Well excuse me for trying to live my own life,” Jon sneers. His eyes flick over to Asha to check that she’s far enough away that his lowered voice won’t carry. “At least I’m not under his thumb. You want to say that it’s me putting on an act? Glass houses, Greyjoy.”

Theon’s dark eyes stare straight into his until he tears them away and looks to the side. “I-“ he swallows, Adam's apple jumping in his throat, “I need to go.”

* * *

**Theon**

**JT**  
  
**Today** 15:34  
I’d do anything to be able to get those drinks with you right now  
  


Theon's eyes keep scurrying back to the display of his phone. He feels with the guy, the drink though he already has right in his hand, Whiskey Sour, no ice. It's a Tuesday afternoon and actually he’s supposed to be in the office, but the constant calls drove him this crazy and Asha's smug smile capped it all, there was no way he could stay there. He left in a haze shortly after his lunch break and let Wex deal with it in the end. 

Now back home, he came to the conclusion that it’s his only chance to win the battle, if he eliminates the trigger. There’s no return before that.

With another strong gulp, he turns back to his laptop. 

Even when they’d still been kids he knew that Snow could be a little shit if he wanted to, let him go nuts already in kindergarten. He always needed one look to make him lose it, one look out of those damn deep grey eyes. Snow was just always so careful to do the right thing, even more eager to show Theon that he of course did not, even if he tried. Though at that time he at least had _him_ to defend him, at his side no matter what. 

Until one day he was no longer, because Theon once again chose to do the wrong ...

He blinks a few times, rubbing over his face with the palm of his hand and then even smacks his cheeks to banish these thoughts. _Now is not the fucking time_! He’s doing it again, he realizes, drowning in self-pity. He blames the bloody alcohol and then remembers too well what happened the last time, barely a few days ago. 

Without preventing it, he looks back at his phone. It's a little stupid he's this happy for he got a second chance, isn't it? He’s still a complete stranger. It's even more stupid that he can't wait to finally have that drink with him.

Though business first.

Theon carefully puts the glass aside, eyeing it with a despising stare. Then he reads the mail for the fifth time.

From: jonsnow@baratheonseaworth.com

Subject: 73 Sister Street

To: t.greyjoy@greyjoyconstructions.com

Cc: planning@kingslanding.gov

Attached:  the-fine-art-of-architecture.pdf (9 KB) 

Dear Mr Greyjoy,

I hope you are well and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.

As per yesterday evening’s conversation, I believe the project you are working on has been misguidedly approved by the planning department, as such I have copied them into this correspondence.

With all due respect, the building is architecturally significant, whether you choose to believe that or not. I have attached two articles written by notable local academics to help illustrate this for you. As you will see, following the destruction of two similar properties, the facade is now unique to the house in question.

I will also reiterate that the building is also of historical importance on account of its previous tenants and the noteworthy political engagement that occurred within its walls.

For these reasons, I believe that a protected status is appropriate and will be lodging a formal complaint with the appropriate bodies.

Awaiting your thoughts on this matter.

Regards,

J. Snow

\----

Jon Snow  
Immigration Solicitor  
Baratheon & Seaworth  
j.snow@baratheonseaworth.com  
www.baratheonseaworth.com  


“Appropriate bodies my ass,” Theon curses under his breath. He feels his blood boiling again, his pulse picking up, just because of that little son of a bitch. He'll destroy him, he'll finish him off. Tugging at his hair he thinks about a suitable answer when suddenly his phone starts ringing. 

“What!” he picks up the call, freezes when he recognizes who's at the other end of the line. “Oh… Hi dad.”

“Theon, what the hell is going on? I just got a call from the mayor about your little construction project. They have people demonstrating outside the city hall.”

 _Fuck_. “Listen, it’s just –”

“Spare me your nonsense. Fix this or I'll give the project to Asha like I should have done in the first place.” Then he hangs up.

Theon stares at his display, then at his drink, that back at his laptop’s screen. _Awaiting your thoughts on this matter._ Oh he has thoughts, and what thoughts he has. On how he murders him, how he can run him over with his motorcycle, that bastard, that fucking shithead. And then his asshole of a father gives the job to Asha? His very own goddamn job?

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Theon grabs the drink and smashes right against the wall, where he used such force, the shards almost fly back at his feet.

All because of _fucking_ Jon Snow.

With another deep breath he tries to calm down at least a little, runs his hand over his face again. Now the bastard has really gone too far. If he wants to play dirty, fine, he can have that. Theon wouldn't be in his current position if he didn't know how to do so. He’ll take him apart, destroy him so hard, he regrets the fucking day he was born.

**Today** 15:34  
I’d do anything to be able to get those drinks with you right now  
**Today** 16:47  
if murder is not an option, how to destroy someone who's ruining my life?  
murder definitely not an option?  
  
any chance of hitting them where it hurts?  
  
literally or figuratively, your choice  
  
give them a taste of their own medicine? that’s possibly as fun as murder  
  


Theon laughs out loud and claps his hands. Why hadn't he thought of that? He could kiss the guy, brilliant genius.

it’s better!  
thanks  
let’s have that drink in celebration of my victory?  
I look forward to it  
good luck crushing the bastard  


With a confident smirk he sets to work. And it doesn't take long until he finds what he is looking for. _Too simple,_ Theon thinks, _actually it's almost too simple._ He closes the tab of his browser and reaches for his phone again.

“Hello? This is Theon Greyjoy from Greyjoy Constructions. I'd like to speak with Rhaegar Targaryen please?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We just want to say a BIG thank you for the comments we've had, it's been wonderful and really helps us.
> 
> If any of you also enjoy throbb you may want to check out our first collab which is in the newly released [Now and Always zine](https://now-and-always-zine.tumblr.com/post/631613568828227584/its-here-after-months-of-waiting-the-now-and)

**Jon**

“Greyjoy!” Jon shouts while marching down the grey carpeted corridor of glass fronted offices, with Wex hot on his heels behind him having tried and failed to stop him at the reception area. Even now he continues to gesture for him to stop. Fat chance of that.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Asha tells him with a smirk from the doorway to one of the rooms, leaning up against the frame.

“This one is expecting me,” he fires back at her angrily. “Where is he?” As his pace slows approaching her, Wex dips past him to go ahead, half running, half walking with a little skip here and there to get to Theon’s office ahead of him. “Nevermind, I think I can manage.”

Jon follows after him until he knocks on a door, at which point he moves around him to fling the door open.

“How can I help?” Theon asks, as cool as anything, crossing his leg over his knee and casually playing with a pencil. “You can leave us, Wex. I’ll deal with Mr Snow here.”

Momentarily, Jon is distracted by the work on the walls; posters, plans, and sketches cover almost every space not taken up by window. It’s a far cry from his own office with peeling paint and only a potted plant to liven up the place.

Jon scowls, forcing himself to look back to Theon leaning back in his leather desk chair. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The stupid prick raises his eyebrows and puts on a show of look to see if anyone else is there with him before questioning with faux innocence, pointing the pencil at his own chest, “with me?” 

“Yes,” Jon snarls, fists clenched, “with you.”

“I have to say, Snow, I’m not surprised to be seeing you here, but I’d expected you to have been a little more dignified after that fancy little email of yours. And I know you’ll do anything not to conform, but that suit,” he says, now waving the pencil up and down whilst directed at Jon, “really?”

Jon slams his hands down onto the table between them. The way Greyjoy flinches almost, _almost_ , makes him regret it. “You went too far this time!”

“I really don’t want to start with ‘who started it’. Look, I needed investors and Rhaegar happened to be receptive to the opportunity. Not everything’s about you, you know.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that this is pure coincidence?”

Like hell it is. He should have known Greyjoy would have something sly up his sleeves. 

The muscles in Greyjoy’s forearm ripple as he twirls the pencil in his fingers. “That you’ve chosen to interfere with my work and that I made a deal with your father which is both financially and personally beneficial to him? Think what you want, but sounds kinda paranoid to me.”

He can’t keep his face straight though, so he busies himself neatening the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

Jon’s jaw aches from how tightly he’s kept it clenched. “How did you even know?”

“That he’d want you out of there?” Theon asks, looking particularly smug. “Please, you only live there to spite him.”

“This is low, even by your standards.”

Standing up from the chair, Theon leans forwards across the desk until he is a hair's breadth away. It’s not the expensive aftershave Jon’s taken in by today, but the smell of the sea minerals shampoo Theon’s always been fond of and the heady scent of tobacco on his skin. He smells of _him_. And that’s significantly more intoxicating. They could still be the same teens sharing a smoke they were a decade past for all Jon’s traitorous body cares.

“You have no idea just how _low_ I’m willing to go,” Theon tells him. Time appears to stand still as Jon’s heart races. He’s so close he can feel the heat of his breath against his face. Jon’s eyes briefly drop their line of vision to Greyjoy’s lips before he is drawn back. “Now get the fuck out of my office before I call security.”

After one last glare, Jon straightens up. Greyjoy may have one this battle but it’s not over yet.

As he opens up the door, Theon calls after him, “oh, and Snow? Who’s under whose thumb now?” to which he slams the door on the fucker.

* * *

**Theon**

Just like that his life’s back to being awesome. It’s still a mess though, yet so much better than a few nights earlier. Because he’d crushed the bastard, thanks to his handsome stranger, and yes, Theon definitely thinks him to be handsome. Beyond the little sneak peek he already got, someone who writes like that, confident and funny, just has to have the matching look. 

He catches himself more and more thinking about it, thinking about _him_ , during the day. Maybe about his strong hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, his ass in those dark jeans, flashing out under the grey jacket that only half covers him as he walks down Theon's corridor. Or wearing just nothing, sprawled out on Theon's sheets, gasping, sweating. When he’d wanked over this last night, he'd come so hard, it took him fifteen full minutes to recover. 

The fact that his stranger tends to look frighteningly familiar within his fantasies, Theon ignores with every fiber of his body. Like now, biting his lip again, suppressing a small sigh, when the picture comes up into his head. Stretched out on his desk, hands spread on the worktop like he’d done so yesterday as he’d stormed his office. Those gray eyes glowing at him in the window’s reflection, Theon's hand in his pretty dark curls, the smell of coconut conditioner in his nose, while he takes him from behind and …

Probably not the best place to get a hard-on and this flustered as some “um, sir?” pulls him away from his jerk-off. The waiter offers him a wry grin with a menu in his hand and Theon turns his head to have a look at him. Can it be? But no, it cannot. His hair is blond and his eyes are blue, his stranger does not look like that. Even when he has no proof of that.

“It might take a few more minutes, thanks,“ he replies and sends him off with his own crooked smile.

As soon as the guy’s gone, Theon relaxes a bit more in his posture and takes a small sip of his water. Can't help but question his own mental state once again. Although he can’t find any proper explanation for what exactly is wrong with him, he is absolutely certain about one thing only: He definitely has _no_ crush on fucking Jon Snow. Maybe a crush on victory if anything? Yes, it probably is. It's always been kind of a turn-on, even back in school on the sports field.

He looks at his watch and realizes that she’s already twenty minutes due. Maybe he should give her an appointment planner instead of that stupid ring that feels way too heavy in his suit pocket. 

As so often these days when he has some time to spare, he grabs his phone and opens their chat.

**JT**  
  
**Today** 20:22  
probably have some big news to share later  
  
what r u up to?  
  
intriguing  
  
just taking out some anger on treadmill before I do something stupid  
  
you know, like take to twitter  
  
how about you?  
  
didn’t turn out so bad as you went on twitter for your last rant, don’t you think?  
  
who caused it this time?  
  
true  
  
but even on the off chance I found another enthralling stranger with a hot bod I’m not sure I want to welcome more temptation into my life 😉  
  
two interfering shitbags  
  
u think my bod’s hot huh?  
  
how hot? 😉  
  
and assuming one of the idiots is your dad, what about the other?  
  
hot enough that I just had a cheeky look back  
  
hard to explain  
  
just the latest person to fall victim to my ‘passion’  
  
he didn’t take it as well as you did  
  
maybe he’s a whiny bitch then?  
  
sorry if it’s another relative 😅  
  
is it private or work?  
  
not a relative, but we go back  
  
complicated question  
  
private I guess  
  


Private … it would be easier if it had to do with work. Like Theon's problem with Snow, it's easier to deal with it when it's not personal, or maybe it isn’t, or maybe Theon’s own problem is little private too. And quite personal to be honest.

As another “um sir” interrupts him, he sits there way too absorbed in his conversation, for he doesn't notice the waiter’s not alone anymore. He's not usually this dopey, is he? Still it feels somehow like this might turn into a habit. 

Without looking at the last reply, even if he'd like nothing more than that, he stands up and gives her his most charming smile. Greets her with "hi babe," and a kiss on her cheek, something he's never done before. Petnames are actually reserved for sex only. But things are about to change. Still, the strangeness of his behavior is clearly visible in Kyra's face when he offers her the chair.

She looks beautiful as always though, he should consider himself lucky. With her white dress and the red lipstick she looks like a dark Marilyn Monroe, with perhaps slightly smaller breasts and yet a much lower neckline. But it is the white of the dress that forms a lump in Theon's throat. It's too much like a wedding dress. One you'd wear when you ... well, when you get married.

The waiter now serves them the long overdue champagne and Theon empties his glass in only one go.

"Theon what the –" yet he shows her his palm and she pauses. He has to go through with it now or he will never do it. It's time to grow up. Stop feeling bad about decisions that have long been made, stop feeling bad about _him_ , about Snow. 

She's his future. So he gets down on his knees and pulls out the ring.

* * *

**Jon**

He’d been so close, so so close, to admitting to how in his fantasies he gets down on his knees and does what twitter guy tells him he imagines. So close to admitting that he dreams of feeling that body under his hands, slipping the shorts down, his hair gripped in a tight vice. And so what if sometimes it's the feel of rough grey carpet tiles not too dissimilar to those in Greyjoy’s office beneath him? Or if mystery man smells of sea salt and fennel? Or even if it's not black shorts being pushed down, but smart trousers being unzipped underneath a desk.

Then, as happens so often, he’d been sharply reminded of their respective partners by the sensible part of his brain. Is ‘partner’ a little strong in an ‘open’ relationship? What if Jon himself wasn’t taken. What then? Could he handle being something on the side? He is though, so it’s not worth thinking about. What he has with Alys is good. It’s _real_. There’s no gamble there, it is what it is.

With a sigh, he pushes his key into the lock and opens the door to Alys, still in her jacket and shoes, bag in hand, standing amongst the piles of leaflets and posters that cover the living spaces of his flat.

Yeah, it’s probably quite difficult to ‘make yourself at home’ when there’s nowhere to sit.

“Hey, sorry, I’ll get that out of your way in a sec,” he says, chucking the gym bag down by the floor and forking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look somewhat more presentable.

“Jon,” she gives a suffering sigh and looks around her, “don’t you think you’re taking this a bit far?”

“Am I taking _trying not to have my home destroyed_ too far?” Jon asks, scowling.

Alys chews her lip, picking up one of the leaflets, “I’m sorry, it’s just, this seems a little like a losing battle.”

Angrily, he begins trying to move things out of her way, stacking the bundles with street maps tucked around them. “I can’t do nothing!”

“Are you really so against moving in together?”

“It’s not that!” He denies, struggling to keep from yelling. “It’s not just about me.”

“No,” she says, and for a moment he thinks she might be accepting this; that he does care more about the others. “I think this is about Theon Greyjoy.”

Now he really does raise his voice. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Would you be as angry if it wasn’t him?”

“Of course I fucking would. I was angry as soon as Gilly told me about any of it.”

“But not quite this angry,” Alys points out. “Have you considered that maybe you should take it easy because it _is_ him? Look, this is going to happen whether it's Theon or not. You know a lot of these flats aren’t exactly… habitable. This was always going to happen. And if it’s going to be someone… Don’t you think maybe you should take into account your history and…”

“Let Greyjoy get what he wants _again_?” He can’t believe this is happening. It’s like going back in time a decade. Fuck Theon shitting Greyjoy and his charm.

“You’re going to cause some strife with your dad's side if you carry on with this…”

“I don’t give a shit.” The child in him is ready to scream that he isn’t his real dad like some kid on a tv show introduced to a step parent, only that’s not exactly accurate.

“That’s blatantly untrue. Jon… hypothetically, if none of this was happening, how would you feel about me moving in.”

“I-...” Shit.

“That’s what I thought.” She takes another glance around, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe we should take a break.”

He hadn’t seen that coming. He pauses and looks directly at her and sees her biting her lip. What’s he supposed to say to that?

“Just because I’m not ready to live together yet?”

“We’ve been at this for the better part of a year,” Alys says in a tired voice.

“Are you seriously not going to give me time to think about it?”

Then she drops the bomb. “There’s someone else.”

Briefly, he panics. He can feel the blood drain from his face. How does she know? Has she read his messages? Spoken to someone? Then, looking at her expression, he realises. She’s not talking about him.

 _Not everything’s about you, you know,_ Greyjoy’s voice tells him with the hint of a smile.

 _That’s probably not quite true,_ Jon thinks. He hasn’t been the most attentive of boyfriends, even before all of this. Greyjoy, twitter guy, all of it. He should’ve seen this coming. At least one of them had the guts to admit defeat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder because there's a lot of going back and forwards with texts - Jon is green, Theon is purple

**Theon**

Theon peers to the side in time to witness another fit of laughter rolling through her body. It’s been going on for almost two hours since they left the restaurant and though maybe he deserves it, it's getting a little annoying by now.

“Cut it out, would you?” He can't help but yap at her, even if his voice lacks any seriousness. Her loud laughter is just too infectious. 

“It’s just… you were…” Theon rolls his eyes as he’s watching her lose another fight for composure. “On your knees.”

“You’re done now?” he asks and hands her back the beer they're sharing.

“I think I never will.” She takes the bottle and a deep gulp and then wipes her mouth with the sleeve of his leather jacket. “I’m gonna tell my grandchildren about it; if I ever have any.”

At that he answers her with a smirk, “limited your chances of this yourself tonight.” And it’s quite strange that they can joke about it already. That Theon neither feels humiliated nor anything else like that. All he feels is relieved. “I’m a good catch, though.” So, maybe his ego is a little bit affected.

White smoke flies past him as she lights her cigarette and then hands him the package. “You really believe that, do you?”

“You don't?” Perhaps they should have had this conversation _before_ he considered spending the rest of his life with her. And then, shocking him some more, she shakes her head and begins to giggle again. He can’t believe this. “You're really killing me today, you know that? Mind telling me why though?”

There she takes her time to answer. After another sip of beer, she gives him back the bottle and looks deep into his eyes. “No woman would want to marry a man who is actually in love with two others.”

To be fair, _that_ he did not see coming. “Excuse me but _what_?”

“Oh please!” The way she straightens then in her seat, runs her hand through her hair, chin up, it makes him suspect the worst. And of course, it comes, he hates it whenever she does that. An impersonation, an impersonation of him. “I hate him so much, oh Jon Snow is the worst, yet I can't stop talking about him. The stupid bastard with his beautiful curls and his tight little ass.”

“I never said he had a tight little ass!”

“But you thought so, didn’t you?”

Of course he has, he is not blind after all. “But I’m not in love with him, are you mad, woman?”

It takes her three attempts to take another drag of her cigarette, always interrupted by some more chuckles coming up her throat. “Maybe you’re not, maybe he's just some old teenage crush, or it's the fact that you could simply never have him, and that's why you're this obsessed with him. But...”

“I am not –”

She shushes him with one of her very red painted fingers. “But… you’re in love with your Twitter guy, or at least you got a huge crush on _him_. And don't you dare deny that too. I see the way your eyes glow as soon as you hear only the sound of a message.”

His fucking eyes do what?! 

She tries to convince him further by bringing even more such ridiculous examples, but in the end, she leaves him at that. With another beer, another cigarette. Sure he’s got the hots for this guy, but a crush? Then finally he decides to just go for it and takes his phone out of his pocket.

**JT**  
  
**Today** 23:55  
probably u r already asleep. just thought I'd let you know the great news is not so great after all. I …  
  


He ponders for a moment, how best to express it.

looks like I'm single again, or was it all the time. my friend says I'm not ready for a serious relationship, who would have thought huh?  
  
Hope you found a good way to unwind btw 😉  
  
sorry? I guess?  
  
not quite… walking in to a massive argument wasn’t quite what I had in mind  
  
she chose this moment to tell me she’s seeing someone else  
  
so I suppose we’re in the same boat again  
  
then sorry too? I guess?  
  
can’t say I'm disappointed though  
  
I'm thinking of you… quite a lot tbh  
  


* * *

**Jon**

Jon pulls himself up from the puddle he’s found himself in bed with the only light coming from the moving images on his laptop screen. He can feel the beat of his heart in his throat. This evening may be starting to look up. 

_Not ready for a serious relationship,_ he says.

This reeks of a rebound. He’s playing with fire, but fuck it, he’s prepared to get burnt. He’s so far into this guy, and he really _really_ needs a distraction.

my ego may be a little bruised, but it’s probably for the best  
  
Full disclosure, I’m not sorry  
  
I think it goes without saying that I’ve been the same  
  
what exactly r u thinking about?  
  


What isn’t he thinking about?

He’s going to have to get over these nerves though. No throwing phones into sinks this time. Taking a deep breath and realising how inexperienced he is at this, he types with only one eye open. It’s just going to have to be the dirty honest truth, the one that sends shivers down his spine at the thought of being able to admit it, at the thought that it's getting one step closer to reality.

you remember imagining me sucking your cock?  
  
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about getting down onto my knees for you  
  
fuck  
  
yes i want that too  
  
just thinking about it makes me so fucking hard  
  
r u touching yourself?  
  


Jon groans, heat pooling in his groin. After putting the laptop aside, he delves a hand under the elastic of his underwear to hold his length, to tease his foreskin. He’s throbbing. How has it come to affect him so quickly?

i am now  
  
I want your hands in my hair so bad  
  


* * *

**Theon**

Shit, it's really happening now. He puts his phone down on his chest and takes a deep breath, his other hand still palming himself through his sweatpant he changed into. His blood rushing south to his cock while he imagines the guy. While he imagines his own hand in those dark soft curls. Grey eyes looking up at him, spit running down his chin.

“Gods fuck,” he rasps, typing another reply and then pushing his pants down.

good. i'd hold you tight and then i'd put my cock in your mouth  
  
i want you to look at me while u suck me  
  
fuck  
  
you’re so hot  
  
I’d want to see the faces you’d make with my lips wrapped around you  
  
I’d suck you so well you wouldn’t know what hit you  
  


Pleasant shivers rush over his skin as Theon starts to stroke himself. He can see it all, him on his knees, taking his cock in his mouth, stroking himself while he sucks him. He can feel his pale skin beneath his fingers as he thrusts his cock up into his fist. 

If he's this turned on by just the idea of fucking the guy, what would it be like if he actually does it? That tight hole right in front of him, begging to be licked and stretched. 

Precum leaking from his tip and he closes his fist around himself, gripping hard to stop himself from spilling.

i know you would  
  
you'd be so good but i’d still want to fuck you  
  
i want to stretch you till you beg me to fill you  
  


* * *

**Jon**

Fucking hell. He can feel his balls tighten. Just a week or so and it’s like he knows exactly what he wants already. In his head, he can see the muscles of familiar arms flex as they take hold of him, but it's not exactly his fault their physiques are similar and Greyjoy is his most recent source of reference, is it? It makes sense that the twat is affecting him. 

_Time to start concentrating on twitter guy_ , he tells himself. Problem is, now Theon has crept into his mind he’s hard to push back out.

It’s so good, he can virtually feel those hands from the photo against his skin, and yet it's not near enough. He would be begging, there’s no question about it. The thought crosses his mind to press the call button, but it’s far too nerve-racking to have the first time his voice is heard to be needy noises down a phone line, despite how thrilling it would be to hear this guy's voice. 

It’s so hard to hold his phone and concentrate on writing out legible messages while he moves his fisted hand.

I want you so bad  
  
god me too  
  
i wish i were inside you  
  
I need you to fuck me  
  
I can’t even think straight  
  
haven’t for the past week  
  
I’m going to come  
  
wish i could make you cum with my cock  
  
fuck i’m close  
  


Desperately, he pulls the boxers down and reaches for the bottle in the bedside drawer. It’s no time for any delicacies, lube drips from his fingers when he spreads his legs and reaches to pleasure himself.

It takes very little, he’s barely started when he can no longer stave off the orgasm brewing within. His back arches and he bites his lip to keep from crying out when he reaches his tipping point and comes hot over his hand.

How is he going to cope with this in real life if the opportunity arises?

With his chest heaving and the waves of bliss still rippling through his body, he reaches for his phone. Just a glimpse of the messages gives him a spike of renewed interest.

* * *

**Theon**

He's pumping his fist in earnest, desperate hard strokes, while sitting on his heels bent over the display. His whole body cries for release. He’s so close, he’s so fucking close.

But he wants the other to finish first. Wants to imagine how his hole is pulsing around his shaft. How the body beneath him shivers, clenching around him, begging him.

“Come on baby,” Theon breathes, “do it, cum for me.”

I came on my fingers thinking of you but it’s a poor substitute  
  
I wish you could see what even just the thought of you does to me  
  


And that’s all it takes. 

He slums forward, one arm stretched supporting his weight when his orgasm shoots through him. Out of him. Making cry out as he keeps coming and coming.

* * *

**Jon**

Jon grins when a response pops up shortly after.

fuck I’ve ruined my couch  
  
it was totally worth it though 😉  
  
I can’t wait for you to ruin me on that couch 😉  
  
whenever you’re up for it  
  
I don’t have anything on that can’t be moved  
  


It’s not quite as easy as he’s making out, and for a moment he worries maybe he’d been a little too eager. Desperate even. But he is desperate. 

It’s a huge relief to see the replies a moment later. 

can't wait any longer  
  
tomorrow/tonight, the Maiden Fare, 7pm?  
  
wear the turtleneck  
  


Jon’s heart gives a lurch. He has to start thinking about what kind of impression he’s going to make at this first meeting and to top it all off, he’s going to have to hope it's as good there as he remembers it being. The stakes are higher now.

* * *

Theon

“And she just said no?”

“Yup.” Patrek looks down on him with horror in his eyes and Theon can't help but smirk back. “She said… I am… in love… with someone else.” 

“Seriously? Shouldn't you know better than her?” He takes the barbell from Theon's hands and puts it back in its brackets while Theon's sits up on the bench and reaches for his water.

“By the looks of it...” he takes a sip, “she actually knew better.” Theon still grins at him and watches how his eyes grow even bigger, just about to pop out of his head.

“What? You _are_ in love with someone else?”

“Can’t say I’m in love but… yeah, there’s someone.”

“Who?!”

Instead of telling him, Theon reaches for his bag and digs for his phone. Then as soon as their chat appears he has to bite his lip to stop a soft moan from leaving his lips. Fuck, he really hopes they’re going to repeat this tonight. But to avoid an inappropriate hard-on, he turns around and throws the thing at Patrek who catches it mid-air. 

When he starts reading, a slight blush on his ears, which could also have been caused by their workout, is the only thing that reveals the content. “Shit, it's like watching you have sex with the guy.”

“Like that never happened before,” Theon says back and takes his seat on one of the stationary bikes.

While he leaves Patrek with the dirty little details and continues with his exercise, his eyes roam through the almost empty gym. There is a Yoga class in one of the nearby rooms but unfortunately, they are too far away to have a look through the glass. So his gaze ends up on the television where they show the local morning news.

And his mood worsens immediately. “Oh you gotta be kidding me,” he puffs out, accelerating the speed of his pedaling. 

Distracted by his comment, Patrek looks up and follows his glance. “Ha!”, he laughs, “do you think it's him?”

Theon would rather chop off his hand than tell him that he has actually thought about it, and not just once. Because it is his treacherous body that makes him do it and nothing Patrek needs to know. Nothing he wishes for. Just a few confused ideas. 

“He is not really… that handsome,” Theon points out, his heart racing as fast as his legs, eyes fixed on Snow’s stupid face as he gives an interview at Tuesday's protest.

Patrek gives him one of his looks, obviously that Theon can't fool him. Still, he has the decency to keep it to himself and calls to Luke at the counter instead. “Hey pal, you might turn it up?”

Less than two seconds later a Snow’s deep manly voice echoes through the room.

“...had the building been adequately maintained over the past ten years we wouldn’t be standing here today, instead, it was allowed to fall into a state of disrepair, and now, of course, it is being sold for a pittance. This is not only home to many families and individuals, including myself, but it is also a cultural landmark for many reasons and an architectural gem. Unfortunately, Theon Greyjoy of Greyjoy Constructions and I do not see eye to eye when it comes to the renovation of the property both in that I believe that its period features should be conserved and that there is a moral duty not to inflate the rent within the area.”

“Oh please… could he be… more full of himself?” Theon snorts as the scene on screen changes again. “Ha! See… that’s... some good content.”

It’s him in one of his favorite black suits, some older footage, to which he cannot exactly map the time. Maybe a year ago, maybe two? But then he remembers, it was the day Greyjoy Constructions went public and he and Asha opened the office at the Red Keep.

“We've waited a long time for this day to come,” says his TV-self, "now nothing can stop us. And if somebody tries, well, then they find out the hard way who they're dealing with." He winks into the camera while at the same time his real self's mouth drops open.

“What?!”

Patrek raises his brows beside him, “you really said that?”

“No! Yes… but this… is completely... taken out… of context!” He accelerates his speed even more, so much so that the chain runs the risk of breaking. “Fuck!”

They change the scene again, back to Snow, who is asked questions about his own work and looks far too good in his dark jacket, brown curls ruffled by the wind. It's a sight that pisses Theon off even more than the stupid interview.

“I swear… next time I see him… I'm gonna smash his stupid face in.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Jon**

#### Today

Jon
    What colour do I look best in?

Arya
    black
    suits ur temperament

Jon
    not helpful

Sansa
    How come?
    Are you doing another interview?

Jon
    Drinks with someone

Bran
    someone?

Jon
    a friend

Arya
    OMG!

Sansa
    what???

Arya
    hes got this guy on the side

Rickon
    🤣 wot

Sansa
    JON!

Jon
    that's not true, for many reasons
    you needn't be concerned about that anymore even if it were ever true

Arya
    no
    you didn’t break up with her over someone you’ve never met??

Jon
    she broke up with me

Sansa
    You’ve never met him?

Arya
    They met on twitter, the well known place to begin long lasting relationships 

Bran
    are you having a midlife crisis?
    do you need an intervention?

Rickon
    y did she?

Jon
    I am not midlife
    we’re getting off topic

Sansa
    Go black or navy, something classic
    don’t think this is over though

Rickon
    mate, I can’t believe u care

Jon
    Yeah
    well
    you haven’t seen him

Arya
    neither have you

Bran
    😂

Jon
    I’ve seen enough of him

Arya
    😏

Sansa
    JON!

Jon
    Not like that
    jeez, get your mind outs out of the gutter

Arya
    pic or it didn’t happen

Bran
    please no

Jon
    

Sansa
    um ok

Bran
    JON!

Arya
    has he seen you? 😉

Jon
    NOT helpful

Sansa
    You’ll be fine. Just be yourself

Rickon
    Maybe try smiling

Jon
    har har

Sansa
    I think if he’s decided he wants to meet you without knowing what you look like that's kinda a nice sign?

Eventually, after he’s been about ready to tear his hair - a bad idea, it’s probably one of his better assets - he manages to pick out some jeans that, well, highlight what he’s reliably informed is another of those assets, pulls on the black turtleneck, and makes it to the restaurant just in time. Seemingly all for nothing.

Beneath the table, his leg jitters as he peels the paper label from the bottle of beer that’s going down far too quickly. He can’t remember being quite this anxious about making a first impression in a long time. Thinking back on Sansa’s advice that it bodes well that he’s suggested meeting without seeing him, Jon takes a deep breath and tries to relax.

The table is one he’s picked out so that every time the door opens he can see who’s coming in, but as of yet he’s not spotted anyone of note.

The guy’s late and yet there’s been no message. Maybe he’s being stood up. Maybe his date took one look through the window and decided to leave it. Perhaps the idea of him is better than the reality. 

This is agonising. He can sense the eyes of the waiting staff on him. How long does he leave it before giving up? Would it be too obvious if he were to look at his phone and pretend there’s been an emergency?

He can’t face telling any of the Starks what’s happening, so instead, he opens up his conversation with Rhaenys, who he has mercifully not told any of the twitter guy related drama from the past week and will not, therefore, immediately mock him.

**Rhae**  
  
**Today** 19:06  
do me a favour?  
  
call me in 5 mins?  
  


It’s while he has his head down texting her that he hears the door opening again and the traffic out on the street.

* * *

**Theon**

“Okay, how do i look?”

He shows them his palms as if waiting for a thunderous applause. But of course, it is a rhetorical question. He knows he looks stunning. Has invested far too much time in his look than it could be otherwise. Today he can't leave anything to chance. 

His hair got the perfect wave, he is freshly shaved, has used his best perfume. The dark jeans fit perfectly, not too tight, but tight enough to emphasize what is important. A black sweater, no shirt, that would be too much of a good thing. Rounded off with a black woolen coat. No scarf, even if the weather probably demands one, but it would ruin his hair and he can't have that.

Patrek shows him a thumbs up, Kyra giggles a little. “You're not nervous, are you?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he lies and grabs his keys from the counter. Then one final look over his shoulder, “I hope you're gone when I come back.”

They both nod without hiding their grin. “Have fun my darling,” Kyra throws him a kiss, “don't stay too long,” Patrek warns, and then they both start giggling again when he slams the door shut.

He’s five minutes late, five calculated minutes, five planned minutes, when the cab pulls up a few meters away from the entrance. It's not late enough to seem rude, but late enough for the other to be there and for Theon to have the advantage of taking a quick peek through the restaurant’s front before they finally meet face to face. 

Not just once does his hand twitch for him to run his fingers through his hair, he knows exactly it’s a sign of his tense nerves. But he can just about pull himself together. So with his hands instead in the pockets of his coat, he leans forward and peers into the room. 

“Please let him be handsome, please let him be handsome,” he breathes. 

There’re not many people sitting inside, a couple at a table next to the counter, a redheaded woman in her mid-forties reading a book. Two guys laughing madly with a big jug of ale between them. And then there is... him.

Handsome he is indeed, and yet it feels as if someone has put Theon's stomach in a vice all of a sudden. A tight knot that almost takes his air. _Fucking shit,_ how can this be real? Of course, he thought about it, but more as a joke, fate can’t be this cruel. 

But as it seems, it actually is.

With his fingers buried deep in his hair, he watches as Snow keeps glancing from his phone back to the door. How he seems a little nervous himself. Of course he is, he doesn't know yet what to expect. 

For a second Theon considers just writing him a message that he simply cannot make it. But then decides against it. Right now it is not in him to invent any such lie. All he feels is emptiness as he turns back on his heels to take the walk back to his apartment. 

Why does it have to be Snow? Of all men on earth, him of all people?

After only a few steps Theon pauses again when he realizes that all this may not be a coincidence. He isn’t superstitious, at least he never thought he was. But lately there seem to be too many such coincidences which have brought him here. And inevitably he has to think of their conversations, the complaints about their lousy fathers, the flirting, the support for their semi-private arguments. At that Theon utters an amused snort, what a fool he’d been. 

And yet ... 

They match, don’t they? Maybe they always have in some way?

He groans low, buries his face in his hands, and then turns around again.

The small bell above the door rings softly and he’s sure that the second he enters, Snow’s eyes are fixed on him. Still, he keeps his own straight ahead and walks up to the counter, orders a coffee, as casually as he can. As if he does it every day. As if this moment isn't the least bit exciting and weird and completely fucked up.

When the waitress gives him a last smile, then turns to her cups, Theon allows himself a brief scan of the room. First at the couple to his next. His eyes wait there, one second, two seconds, then to the woman with the book. He runs his tongue over his lips, slightly creases the edge, when finally, he looks at Snow. 

It’s only one heartbeat, hardly more, but still it happens, their eyes meet and Theon feels his pulse rushing in his ears immediately.

Luckily, Snow seems to feel different, instead of keeping their gaze locked, he slides further down in his chair and starts fiddling around with his phone. As if he’s hoping Theon hasn't seen him. As if he could vanish only with sheer willpower. Well, he won't do him that favor. 

Without waiting any longer he crosses the room with long strides and finally stops right in front of his table. “Snow,” he grins, “what a coincidence”. But Jon doesn't look, just raises one hand. 

Only when Theon moves the chair his gaze shoots up. “Actually this seat is taken,” he says hastily, trying to put his hands protectively over the empty place. It’s quite sweet to see how hard he tries. Still, Theon just gives him a smirk, crocks one brow at him, and then takes the seat unaffectedly.

“I just saw your interview today,” he points out, while he puts one leg over the other, watching how Snow’s frown deepens. 

“Oh yes? And now you’ve come all the way here to complain about it?” He doesn't look at him while he says it, his eyes again scurry longingly to the door. Just shortly afterwards when the waitress comes to bring him the coffee, Theon has his attention back. Watches with amusement how he’s repeating this tense waving of his hands above the table.

“Oh no, he's not staying,” Jon says right as she’s about to put the cup down, “you're not staying,” this time addressed at Theon. 

But he ignores him, takes the cup instead and a deep gulp right after, then hums pleased as he swallows and puts it down in front of Jon's hands. “I'm only staying till his friend shows up.”

Actually it is Snow whom he tells, still, the waitress takes it as her sign to leave. 

“What do you want Greyjoy?” Snow groans slightly after she’s gone.

Oh boy, if only Theon would know. He forces the smile to stay on his face while he ponders about his next words. What he can say without once again pissing him off, without letting the situation escalate like it always does. “Just came here to have a little chat?” he shrugs. 

“Okay, we had that now. Would you please leave?” 

Jon's gaze is so intense, his eyes like silver while he stares at him. And yet there is more in it than just contempt, or maybe Theon’s just imagining it, the slightest hint of longing. He can't quite place it and yet he’s so irritated by it that the next words leave his lips unnoticed.

“So … you think they stood you up?”

* * *

**Jon**

“Why would you say that?” Jon snaps. Trust Greyjoy to be right on the money.

Shrugging, Theon takes a sip of his coffee before he answers. “Because that's what it looks like?”

“I’m not asking you why you’d think that; I’m asking why you would _say_ it.”

“Just making conversation.”

“I don’t want a conversation. Not with you anyway.” Jon sighs and brings the beer bottle to his lips. He can’t help but take another glance towards the door. Greyjoy’s probably right, he’s never going to show. “You’ve crossed the line.”

“I’m sorry, _I’ve_ crossed the line?” Theon asks, pointing at himself.

“Yes, you. _You’ve_ crossed the line. Rhaegar, really?”

“You came at me first!”

“That’s clearly untrue!” Not really anyway. 

“I didn’t even know you lived there,” says Theon, sounding sincere. “It’s not fucking personal.”

The bell above the door chimes again and Jon tries to look around Theon, pulling slightly on the collar of the turtleneck. Gods, it feels like it’s going to strangle him; he's that nervous. 

“You made it personal.”

“No. You did,” Greyjoy insists, “You could have come to see me in private. Instead, you immediately decided to involve the entire bloody city. Writing snotty emails.”

That email appears to wound him up sufficiently. Good. Still, he hadn’t predicted this outcome. The outcome being Rhaegar making an investment and then insisting that if Jon continues to fight the project that he’s acting against his family’s best interest.

“I tried to speak to you after the meeting,” he points out.

“Only after trying to make me out as a fool in front of a hall full of people,” Theon says and he actually looks a little hurt about this. “You can be so self-righteous sometimes, you know that?”

Jon scowls, forehead creasing. “What would you have done?”

“Hmm?”

They’re sat so close. He really hadn’t been lying when he told Twitter Guy it was good for a date. Intimate. Greyjoy’s leg brushes against his occasionally under the table. It gives him goosebumps, even if it is only Theon… who’s looking particularly good today, it has to be said. Fleetingly, Jon is relieved he’s also looking fairly respectable, even if this is a particularly embarrassing situation to be seen in.

“Imagine I sat in that meeting and only listened,” Jon tells him, looking him in the eye. “If I came to your office and let’s say for argument's sake - Wex was it? - let me past, I knocked on the door politely, took a seat, and explained my concerns to you. What then?”

Theon clicks his tongue. “Sound’s pretty farfetched to me.”

“Theon.”

“Honestly?” Greyjoy’s expression softens before he shrugs like none of it matters. “I don’t know.”

“Right, ok, we’re done now.” Jon begins to gesture for him to go, waving his hands again. “Leave me alone. I need that seat and I don’t want it to look like I’m with someone.”

Somewhat disappointingly, Theon appears to admit defeat and gets up from the chair… only to sit on the one directly behind Jon.

“What are you doing?” Jon hisses, glancing over his shoulder at him.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

He’s even closer now. There are none of those brief moments of contact, but he can feel the heat radiating off him. Realistically, Jon knows his interest is only piqued because he’s spent the day thinking about last night and then the possibility of tonight, but still, he’d be a fool not to realise that, physically at least, it is.

“Well, stop.”

Jon can hear a smirk in Theon’s voice. “Am I bothering you?”

“You know you are!”

Greyjoy has the nerve to laugh. “You’ve just got your knickers in a twist because you’ve been stood up.”

“I have not!”

“Been stood up or got your knickers in a twist?”

Jon purses his lips and chooses to say nothing.

“Must be a real jerk,” says Greyjoy, turning properly in his seat to better look at Jon.

“He is not.” Jon takes his beer in hand, glancing first down to his phone and then over towards the door. “I’m sure he has a good explanation.”

This is insane, last night shouldn’t have happened. What was he thinking? Now there’s just some anonymous figure out there he’s been sexting with and knows, well… his business.

“He’s not even called or messaged you? Sounds like a great guy.”

“He is,” says Jon defensively and twists sideways in his seat so that he has an arm over the back to look at Theon’s face. “He’s funny, smart, not nearly as contrary as _some_ people I know, and he gets me.”

“Oof, all that, huh? Guessing he’s not a looker.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be wrong.”

When Jon takes a swig of beer, he could swear he sees Theon’s eyes flick down.

“Yeah?” Theon asks, taking his cup from the table and looking amused.

In his hand, Jon’s phone begins to ring. Seeing Rhaenys’ face pop up on the screen he makes the strange decision not to answer the call, but to click reject, telling himself that it’s just because he wants to give Twitter Guy a little more time.

“Yeah, but you know what? I wouldn’t care either way.”

“Oh here we go again, holier-than-thou Snow.” Theon rolls his eyes, then asks after he’s drunk some more coffee, “anyway, don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“What? How do you know that?”

“Dunno… Society talks I guess? Who is it?”

“Was,” Jon corrects him. “Alys. Torr’s sister.”

Please don’t let him start asking questions. This is bad enough as it is without having to admit he was dumped last night and is immediately going on a date.

“Karstark?” Theon whistles. At least his attention has drifted away from the ‘was’. “Can’t imagine daddy was best pleased.”

Jon groans. Not this again. He doesn’t even really like him referred to as his dad, and that has taken some getting used to. “Stop calling him that.”

“It’s too much fun.” Theon grins, looking closely at him. “You should see your face.”

“Anyway,” Jon huffs and says perhaps a little too aggressively, “I don’t see why that matters.”

“Whoa, chill out,” Theon holds up his hand not holding the cup just as Arya might. “I just mean I get it. Stop taking everything as an attack. I was just trying to be sympathetic.”

He scoffs despite knowing that he is often just guilty of jumping to conclusions, but he can’t help but think Greyjoy is being a little too _nice_ for it to be genuine. It would be just like him to be using it in some sort of scheme. “You? Sympathetic?”

“Fine, whatever, be like that.” With a dejected sigh, Greyjoy downs the dregs of his drink and stands up. Stood close, he looks down on Jon and straightens out his coat. “I’m going to get off and leave you to your wonderful date.”

Very nearly does Jon tell him to stop, close to apologising for being hypercritical. Theon probably does know how some things are when it comes down to it, even if he is being purposefully difficult. Instead, he watches him walk away and look back over to meet his eyes just before steps back out in the cold.


	9. Chapter 9

**Theon**

What was he thinking? What the fuck was he hoping for? That all it takes is a charming smile and a little flirting and the next thing Snow does is reach across the table and smash their mouths together? If he’s honest with himself... that was _exactly_ what he’d hoped for. The blind idiot that he is sometimes.

But Snow hates him. It’s the simple truth and so obvious in the way he looked at him. Every word from his mouth soaked with contempt. And everything Theon imagined, everything else, desire, interest, affection, was just that, imagined and nothing more.

He turns in his chair and looks from the window back to his screen. The table of costs in front of him is only a blur, as is the time chart and the to-do list with all the tasks for the day. Even if his life depends on it, he can't concentrate on his work now. His head is just too full of him, of all that could have been.

All that could have been with bloody Jon Snow.

Then he hears a knock at his door.

Lifting his gaze he sees that, of course, she comes in without waiting for his answer. Her hands buried in the black pockets of her suit, she grins at him and tilts her head, “oh deary, what happened?” It doesn't sound in the slightest like she actually feels sorry for him. 

“What do you want?” Where _he_ sounds like a pubescent teenager, for her grin widens as she crosses the room and takes a seat in one of the brown armchairs.

“Well...“ she starts, “ _before_ I knocked I just wanted to tell you that the appointment with the stress analyst has been postponed to three-thirty.” Asha places her ankle on her knee and crosses her fingers in her lap, “but _now_ I really want to know what crawled up your ass and died there.”

Theon snorts, rolls his eyes, and then tries hard to pretend to keep on working. 

“I bet it's your cute little girlfriend, right? The one who wouldn't take your little twinkle ring?”

He snaps his head, “how do you know that?”

“Oh please, I know _everything_.”

His raised brow shows her that he doesn't buy it at all.

“Okay fine, I know _a lot_... the boyfriend of Dany's best friend works at the restaurant.” She narrows her eyes and leans forward, “is it true, you really _knelt_ before her??” 

Up till now he’d hardly been bothered by the whole thing. In the end, it was good that Kyra had turned him down. But now, with the way Asha’s looking at him, implying for it to be the most pathetic thing she’d ever heard, it makes his blood boil over right away. “What is it you _want_?”

She smirks at him like the devil himself. “You're really too easy Theon.”

“Would you please just go now?” He feels pity for Snow who yesterday asked him so desperately for the same thing and then a painful sting in his stomach, because how unbearable he must have found his presence to beg him like that? 

When his gaze falls back to Asha her smile is at least a tad more friendly. “It’s not about her, is it?”

“No it’s not.” And fuck, his voice, it comes across so _so_ defeated.

“Okay,” she says, tapping against his boot with her heel to make him look up again, “then let me give you a bit of advice... from adult to _adult_.” The second one she puts in quotation marks. “If there is something that makes you this miserable because you want it so much, maybe you should find a way to get it.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

One second she’s shaking her head the next she reaches across the table and smacks his forehead.

“Ouch! What the fuck?”

“One might think you are a Frey for being this slow.” Asha gets up and straightens her blazer, then walks to the door. She gives him one last look over her shoulder and then there is another smile on her lips which looks almost empathetic, for Theon’s not quite sure if he’s only imagining it. “Just get what you want if you want it that badly.”

And with that she leaves him alone.

Now the question is, how _badly_ does he want it?

And not just his Twitter guy, to whom he could tell all his crap, with whom he had so much in common, who turned him on like nobody has done for a long time. No, Jon Snow himself, how much does he want _him_?

Truth be told, Theon wants him even more. He wants him so much he can’t think about anything else, wants him so much that it’s driving him insane. 

Asha’s right, and fuck, he hates to admit that. But this thing is nothing he can simply sit out. He knows it won't go away. He needs to come up with a plan. A plan to win Jon Snow’s bloody heart. He probably has more luck to win the lottery. 

But anyway, the decision is made. So Theon grabs his phone, unlocks his screens, and opens their chat to write a message he should have written twelve hours earlier. 

Hopefully the first measure to success, the first step: damage limitation. 

**JT**  
  
**Today** 14:54  
hey you  
  
i’m sorry for what happened last night. not only that i didn't show up, but also that i didn't tell you why. that i still don't. but sometimes life changes, and then your whole plan turns upside down without you realizing it, maybe you know things like that. so... something like this happened yesterday. i know it seems like a lame excuse, but please believe me. it's not. and it’s also something that should be better explained in person.  
  
i really hope i’ll get another chance to do that. maybe I don't deserve one, but I’m still asking for it. not just now. now my only hope is that you don’t block me and that I didn't completely destroy what we had.  
  
i’m still thinking of you … a lot.  
  


* * *

**Jon**

It’s ridiculous that he’s even contemplating responding to the messages, Jon knows that. He should have deleted them and blocked the number already, but instead, he’s left them just sitting there on read, phone burning a hole in hole in his pocket as it were. He’s not going to reply. He’s not that much of a masochist. Oh no, he’ll just torture himself thinking about it.

Jon reaches into one of the freezers, grabs a tub of ice cream and then another for good measure, and throws them into his shopping basket. Ice cream lasts, it's on offer, he might as well have it waiting in his own freezer, right?

This guy, this stranger; Jon’s already given him the benefit of the doubt over the hiccup early on. He’s had his chance. It’s time to move on and forget about him.

 _Better explained in person_? He can fuck right off, thinks Jon as he slams the freezer door back closed.

It _is_ a lame excuse. One that _really_ is not sufficient for having left him to Greyjoy’s mercy. Mortifying is what it was. It would’ve been bad enough without him turning up to gloat.

 _What we had_. A pang of hope runs through him just thinking about it, one that has him almost reach for his phone, just before it is pushed out by the embarrassment of falling for such a thing. Instead, he goes to the whiskey off the top shelf… maybe he should reconsider that job offer.

Confession time. One of the possible reasons he hasn’t yet deleted the conversation is because of _those_ messages. Fuck, he’s sad.

Then there’s Greyjoy. The last thing Jon wanted was for him to see him like that, to see him vulnerable. But there’s a nagging part of his brain that’s telling him he’d been too harsh, and, although he tries to reason with himself that’s the lasting effect of his charm, it’s wearing him down.

After a quick and discreet stop in the pharmacy aisle, Jon makes his way towards the checkouts.

“Snow?” Asks an altogether too familiar voice. There aren’t too many people who address him like that either.

Jon groans. Not this again. With no other choice but to acknowledge him, he turns to face Theon.

“What do you want now?” he asks, hooking the basket’s handle at his elbow.

“Nothing.” Theon arches a well-groomed brow at him. “Just say hi?" His eyes roam over his body just briefly. "Nice shirt by the way,” he grins. 

Jon looks down on impulse. It’s then that he realises he chose today to wear one of his old band tees. It’s old, faded, and ill fitting after a decade of wear. No matter how quick he moves to cover it as much as possible with his arms, he knows Greyjoy will have noticed the holes and how it rides up when he stretches. The small consolation that he’d been presentable that evening has been destroyed by comfort clothing today.

He scowls, the last thing he needed was to be mocked while out grocery shopping. “What are you even doing here? Trying to decide whether to move into one of your fancy new apartments? Neighbourhood up to scratch?”

“I have to say, it’s surprisingly varied.” Theon leans against the shelf full of tins with both hands in his dark and much too perfectly fitting jeans. “Plenty exciting encounters so far.” Then he flashes him another smirk.

Catching himself from taking too much interest in Greyjoy’s posture, Jon shakes his head. He’s not falling for this. Just because he’s not usually the intended recipient of these gestures doesn’t mean he’s alien to them.

“Mmm, I’m sure. Exciting enough to have you coming to have some extra fun causing me grief,” he says, switching the weight of the basket from one arm to the other. He should get moving.

Greyjoy looks at him as if he is preparing his next words, biting his lip, just like he did on Friday in the restaurant. “I don't want to cause you any grief Snow,” he says where it is Jon who raises his brows, “just maybe a few sleepless nights.” 

Theon pushes himself away from the shelf, trademark grin still in place, leans forward, and then his eyes fall on Jon's basket. “Or ... maybe you got someone else for that already?”

“What?” Jon asks, pinching his brows together, then follows Theon’s eye line. Fuck. He’s not been savvy enough to conceal the lube adequately. “Oh, I…” He can feel the rising heat in his cheeks and neck as he tries to shift the basket’s contents to cover it up. “It’s none of your business.”

Did he really just say he wants to give him sleepless nights and then segue into using it as an innuendo? Was that intentional from the beginning? Is he over analysing this?

Theon stretches his neck to spot even more embarrassing items which Jon tries his best to hide but fails. “Hmm… but maybe I was too quick with my assumption.”

“What?”

“Mint choc chip, really?”

“How...?” Jon can’t quite decide if he’s more mortified by this exchange or impressed with Theon’s deductive skills. It’s probably pointless to deny these accusations so he steers the discussion. “How do you even make that leap?” He’s not going to be able to resist showing off about it.

“What was that redhead’s name, you know the one…”

Jon sighs. There’s no point lying. “Ygritte?” Of course, he’d remember every trivial detail of the fallout following that break-up.

“Yeah, I guess nothing ever changes, huh? Although,” Theon swaggers forwards, a hand reaching towards the bottle of whisky in his basket, “this is new. Very sophisticated. What was it you threw up on Cat’s new rug that time?” He teases. “Malibu?”

He tries to stop Theon taking it from the basket, hand moving to make a grab for it. “Stop.” Why is he laughing at this?

“Quinoa, Snow?” asks Greyjoy, looking for what else he has in there, still holding the whisky in one hand. “You’ve become one of those people?”

“Stop it.” Neither his voice nor hand demonstrate any kind of authority.

Jon looks to Theon’s face when he puts the whisky back in the basket of his own accord. There’s something about his expression, the way he smiles, the way he meets his eyes for a moment. Are they flirting? Is he flirting with Theon Greyjoy? How has he let his guard slip this much? 

This pause in Jon’s attention is all Theon needs to now have a bottle of conditioner under his nose, taking an exaggerated sniff.

“Enough,” Jon says, taking hold of the conditioner. His fingers overlap with Theon’s on the plastic and his heart falters at the touch.

* * *

**Theon**

It’s progress, isn’t it? They were flirting, Theon’s quite sure, and Snow did laugh about his joke somehow. Not a real laughter though, but at least there was a small grin on his lips as he dug through all his stuff making some, if Theon is completely honest, much too obvious presumptions.

But maybe not so obvious to someone else. Maybe only for him, because they know each other, still do, despite everything that happened, don’t they? And he knows this thought, this feeling of familiarity, is the reason he keeps grinning like an idiot as they head for the checkout together. 

When it’s Jon’s turn, he puts his items on the counter, the bottle of lube even quite demonstratively, since he still _is_ bloody Jon Snow and _defiance_ his fucking middle name. But somehow Theon thinks even that endearing.

And when the hell did that happen? Two days ago he wanted to smash his face into the next convenient wall for Christ’s sake. 

Then it’s his turn and Theon realizes he did not pick up at least one single item. He was too distracted by Jon and his stupid old shirt. His eyes flit across the shelf behind her while the cashier waits, and so does Snow. Followed by another look of earnest skepticism. 

“Um … one of those and … a lighter please.” 

Pleased with his selection Theon reaches for his wallet and pays, but Snow keeps his brows raised, barely convinced. “Seriously, you came all the way here for a pack of gum?”

“And a lighter,” adds Theon and places some of the Double Mint between his teeth. 

He knows he's making a show of it, putting his tongue around it, then letting it disappear in his mouth way too slow, licking his lips afterwards. But the way Jon looks at him while he does so is completely worth it. 

They walk out together, Snow trying to keep a certain distance between them, while Theon continually moves a bit closer. So their arms touch at every third step _by accident_ and it gives him the same thrill as when they both reached for Snow’s conditioner. 

“So ... “ he starts back on the street because at some point he just has to ask for it, “how'd your date go?” It's thin ice he's walking on, but his alter ego is part of the big plan and somehow he has to make sure it's all going in the right direction.

At that the frown is immediately back on Jon’s face, defence mechanism kicking right in. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious?” Theon shrugs with a little smile.

Snow seems about telling him to fuck off, but then he just sighs, “you were right, he never showed up.”

He was _right_??!! 

If the case were different, he'd now do a little victory dance. Instead, he says, “bastard.” Which seems to be the right thing as that pretty smile appears back on Snow’s face.

“He texted me that he's sorry.”

“Ha, of course he did.” Theon pauses but then decides he has to check the boundaries a little bit more. “May I see it?”

“What? No way!” Okay, apparently they're not _that_ close yet. 

He holds up his palms. “Easy, just asking. So … what did he say?”

“That something has come up he’d rather tell personally.” Snow sighs again, pushing the fingers of his free hand through his incredible good smelling curls. “And the worst thing, somehow I believe him … sort of pathetic, right?”

“Yeah, completely.” Because really, Theon can’t be _this_ empathetic all of a sudden. But the way his voice sounds shows he’s not too serious about it and this time, Snow gets it.

They keep on walking and chatting till they almost reach his bike, but already a few meters before Snow slows his steps, as his eyes widen. “Oh my god, seriously?"

“What?”

“You still got this?”

“Pfft, like I’d ever abandon my baby,” Theon replies, playing offended, and strokes over the black leather saddle with a gentle touch, “I can give you a ride if you want?” 

Because, fuck, only the sheer though of it makes him dizzy, the image of Snow's muscular chest pressed against his back, his strong thighs wrapped around him. But to his disappointment, Jon shakes his head.

“Forget it! This thing is a fucking death machine. Even back then when you bought it, we thought you guys would break your neck with it.”

As soon as the words have left his lips he recognizes what he just said, but still it’s too late to take it back. Where Theon feels all color leaving his face and Snow has it similar, eyes wide, mouth agape. It was obviously meant as a joke, yet it’s too close to reality. And Theon notices his hands start shaking, his throat gone dry, as Jon tries to fix it but can't. 

“Fuck… sorry! I… shit, I don’t know why I said that. I… oh fuck, sorry.”

“It’s… it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s... I - gods, sorry.”

“Really, it’s…” Theon takes a deep breath. “It’s okay.” 

Jon obviously looks upset and nobody can blame him. But Theon knows he didn't mean it and shit, could there have been a bigger mood killer? He doesn’t know what to say next. 

So they keep looking into each other's eyes and it feels like there are countless emotions between them, exchanged without even a single word. It’s the first time in years Theon feels anything like this, suddenly so close to someone again. Even if the story behind it is the worst it could be. And it scares him, but it also confirms him in his plan, that this is definitely the right thing for him to do. And finally, it is him, who talks again without thinking. “ _He_ would have called it funny though.”

Jon stares at him some more and then gives him one of his rare and honest smiles. He nods in confirmation but then averts his eyes. 

“I… I better get going,” he says, “it was …” but without finishing his sentences and with another shake of his head, he turns to leave. Peers over his shoulder once briefly, as if he wants to say something more, but then again decides against it. 

And while he walks away, despite this odd change in their conversation, Theon can’t help but admire the view with a small smirk on his lips. Just appreciating how his perfect butt shows up in these damn grey sweatpants. He just has to.

“Oi Snow!” he finally calls after him and sees how Jon stops, without looking back though, “enjoy your ice cream!” 

There Snow flips him the bird and keeps on walking, but Theon’s sure he’s grinning as well. It’s definitely some kind of progress.


	10. Chapter 10

**Jon**

It was what? Good? Nice? Strange?

It had been a thrill, that's for certain. Enjoyable until he went and fucked it up. Why must he always be such a buzzkill? And in such a big way too. No half measures. Even if he’d have just left it at ‘death machine’, that would have been manageable, but no, things are just about ok with Greyjoy and his mouth runs amok.

The thing is, it might be nice to speak to him… about Robb amongst other things. Maybe he’s the only person who could really understand, but he’s probably wrecked any inclination he had to speak to him now.

Although… he’s certain he could feel the weight of Theon’s eyes as he’d walked away. He can’t help but replay how he’d called after him.

Jon sighs, setting the shopping bag on the laminate countertop in his kitchen area. He can still feel the heat of Theon’s skin beneath his fingers. Things are getting weirder by the day. He should have pressed Greyjoy harder about why he was there, but the whole thing had rattled him somehow.

Reaching to take glasses from the cupboard above him, he asks Sam over his shoulder. “Drink?”

“Please,” Sam answers him, walking over instinctively to take ice from the freezer.

“Oh,” Jon takes the ice cream from the bag and allows himself a little smile just thinking about it, “would you stick this in there?”

“Mint?” Sam arches a brow. “I thought you were strictly all about vanilla.”

He’s a good friend to know this, but it seems he hasn’t been around for any bad break ups. 

It is sort of odd that Greyjoy understands what the flavour means, but then it's just a reflection on how much Robb always wanted him around; how much of Jon’s life has been exposed to him, and it’s just like him to hoard information in reserve for then the opportunity arises to mock him. 

He can see the exasperated shake of Theon’s head behind Robb in his memory. _“Come on, let’s go out. You just need to pull.”_

 _“Theon,”_ Robb gently reprimanded him, chuckling. Then he had turned back to Jon in his memory and held up the empty ice cream tub. _“I don’t think this is doing the trick.”_

He’d huffed at that, sorely tempted to bury his head in the cushions. _“Nor will getting laid.”_

Theon’s crystalline laugh filled the room. _“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Snow.” Something on his face must have given him away though because Greyjoy immediately jumped to the correct conclusions. “Ah, I see,”_ Theon had drawled, _“she was your first.”_

_“Really?” Robb’s eyes were as large as saucers. “You never said anything!”_

Theon winked in Jon’s direction. _“Older women, eh, am I right?”_

Simultaneously, Jon groaned as the back of Robb’s hand smacked into Theon’s stomach. The pair of them were immediately laughing though; Greyjoy fast enough to catch the hand.

_“Yeah, I wonder why I didn’t say anything.”_

“Yeah, well, that’s because I’m not really into ice cream alone. I just had a craving,” Jon tells Sam, coming back into the room and out of his thoughts.

Sam’s eyebrows bunch, confused. “Don’t you want it now then?” 

“Nah,” Jon shakes his head despite knowing this is off, “it’s passed.”

“Between the shop and here?” Sam pushes, to which Jon simply shrugs.

Ice in the glasses, Jon unscrews the bottle of whisky and pours them each out a drink. Indicating with his chin towards the piles of leaflets, he asks, “how are we doing?”

“We’ve shifted about half of the rounds.” Sam finally puts away the ice cream. “That’s most of the surrounding streets. Gilly said she might have time for another tomorrow.”

After taking a drink, Jon nods to this. Why does he suddenly feel like it's him doing something wrong? Like he’s going behind Theon’s back. It’s absurd, Greyjoy know’s where he stands on this, knows he plans to interfere. Which he is, only now he’s not going to attach his name to it. 

If he can get enough people to take up the mantle, he can safely tell Rhaegar it's now his neighbours against the project. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to realise that interview was pre recorded though so maybe that’s wishful thinking.

Sam is looking at him suspiciously. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Better than fine, by the looks of things.”

Fuck Greyjoy. A little attention and he’s got Jon mooning over him like Sansa had with the boybands in her magazines.

A few drinks in and he decides he’s not going to let him get away with this. He won’t be charmed out of action; protesting against him, or anything else for that matter. There’s one easy, simple, solution to this, to stop thinking about Theon and to do something he thinks he shouldn’t be doing all in one go.

**Twit**  
  
**Today**  
You’re right, it does sound like a lame excuse. I’m not sure if you deserve another chance. How many are you going to need? You didn’t completely destroy it, but it’s going to take some fixing.  
  
But I can’t get you off my mind  
  
I promise, I'll make up for it in any way I possible  
  


**Theon**

So far the plan is going quite well. Surely there were small setbacks, like this strange joke Snow made to which Theon reacted more than exaggerated, or that the idiot is still going on with his stupid house rescue campaign. But it is all nothing he can't handle. In fact the latter is not so bad at all, gives him a good reason to confront Jon again. This time without any fake grocery shopping.

And if he is completely honest, he has never been less interested in _actually_ doing his job anyway.

Maybe it’s Jon's helper syndrome that slowly rubs off on him. Why else did he force Asha to take this long overdue appointment with the prime contractor? Perhaps it is also that he is beginning to realize that Jon's protests have a certain grounding. Either way he decided to skip it for today. 

Just to instead lounge around Snow's office, looking like a bad undercover cop with a parka and sunglasses, on edge for the mailman to show up. Sitt ing on the nearest bench. Waiting. And waiting.

When he finally appears, the big brown package tucked under his arm, Theon is this psyched up, that he almost jumps up from his seat the first second he spots him. 

But he can just about pull himself together. Instead he walks _slowly_ towards the building. Leans then against the façade, lights a cigarette and starts to listen. Blessed be Cat and Ned Stark for their craving for fresh air, which they have fortunately passed on to all their children. Thus Theon can easily hear every word clearly through the open window.

“There's a package,” says a woman. 

“For whom?” asks a man, obviously a little further away.

“I don't know, there is no recipient on it.”

“Is it the protocols about Summerhall’s deconstruction?”

 _Ah, there he is_ , Theon grins and takes a pleasant drag. He hears footsteps approaching, probably the woman has now entered Jon's room. It sounds as if the package has been placed on his desk. Now it can't take much longer.

“It's a bit too light for it to be files,” she mumbles “but wait ... there's a note attached … _for JT … because lame excuses are hardly enough_.”

“WHAT?”

It takes all the self-control Theon can muster not to start giggling. That's how well he sees Snow's face in front of him, his eyes wide, his mouth open. And he’d bet his shirt on a horse that of course seconds later it changes to a frown, wrinkles on his forehead that will probably accompany him for the rest of his life.

“You know who that’s for??”

“I … um …” he stutters, probably even blushing a little, “well yes. I think … me.”

“You?” She seems to be surprised, but then her voice changes again seconds later, now sounds _eagerly_ , if Theon has to give it a label. “Well great, then we can open it.”

Snow hesitates first, mumbles something about having too much work to do, and telling her _later_ , but the woman ignores him. Then there's the sound of a knife cutting through cardboard. Paper that rustles. Followed by two soft _oh's_ and then long deep silence. 

And drowned god how much Theon would love to see what’s going on in there. But he has to be patient, at least a few more minutes. 

“So …” she hisses, “definitely not files.”

Jon says nothing.

“It looks, um, it looks good though, doesn’t it? High quality probably. In any case, the wine is very expensive, my father always drinks it,” she babbles, “and the chocolates look also very good, so the ... well, you know, is probably also ... good? Sorry Jon, I don’t know what to say.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, then clears his throat, “yeah, me neither.”

Theon hears a sound as if she has patted his shoulder, some steps, a door opening and closing. Shortly thereafter he hears Jon's soft sigh. It’s time now, his own sign to initiate part two of his plan. He reaches for the paper, stuck in the back pocket of his pants, holds onto it for dear life. Takes a deep breath. Right now he is grateful that he is such a good actor. The loose posture, the smug smile perfected throughout all his life. 

Theon takes the sunglasses off his nose, then heads for the entrance of the building, reaches for the handle of the door, when suddenly his phone starts buzzing.

**Jon**  
  
**Today** 11:39  
I have so many questions  
  
but I’m going to start by asking the most obvious  
  
how do you know where I work and should I be concerned?  
  


He blinks at his display. Of course this is the first thing that comes to Snow's mind. He should really put more time in thinking about how he can impress Jon and not _himself_. Damnit. Reluctantly Theon takes a few steps back, pondering, and sits down on the bench again where he's been waiting all morning. 

So even if _this_ was _not_ the plan, maybe it can change this for the better? 

There was a 50/50 chance that you would be flattered or freaked out.  
  
sorry if it's the latter … i thought it was quite a nice gesture 😉  
  
and no need to worry. let's just say I know people who know people and because of your posts on Twitter and your username you didn't make the search that difficult … Jon :)  
  
....very nice, my colleague was very complimentary of your efforts  
  
well, I guess it’s good to know that, unless I’m mistaken, you’re still interested despite knowing the reality?  
  
So, how long are you planning to keep me in the dark? Am I to take it from this gift it’s going to be a while, or am I getting a demonstration?  
  


Theon can't hide his grin now even if he wants to. He has to give Snow credit for the skill to surprise him again and again. Looks like this _really_ turns out better than planned.

Fuck, for a brief second he wonders if it's best to just screw it over and march into Snow's office and just put his cards on the table. But then decides against it. First, he has to make sure that it's the right time, that Jon _really_ wants them both and not just some exciting fantasy. He must also be interested despite knowing the reality.

Even if he actually knows nothing at all.

sorry for the thing with the college, hope it wasn't too embarrassing?  
  
and if reality has revealed one thing, it’s that I want you even more.  
  


And isn't funny, that this is one thing Theon does not even have to lie about?!

I need a couple more days to sort things out. the package should sweeten your wait a little. or we enjoy it together when it is finally time 😉  
  
tease  
  
of all the people who could’ve been in the room it could’ve been worse  
  
if it were one of my bosses I might not have been so forgiving  
  
don’t leave me waiting too long  
  
i won't. fuck, I definitely won't.  
  
Just thinking about it almost makes me stop everything and come to see you right now.  
  


But just _almost_. And before Theon does something he will regret later, he turns off his phone, straightens his pants and walks with quick steps towards Jon's office.

**Jon**

“Jon?” Val appears back in his doorway as confused as she had been the last time she came. “Sorry to, um, disturb,” she says, eyes glancing to the phone in his hand, probably jumping to some conclusions, “but there’s someone here to see you.”

Jon frowns. It’s rare he has anyone come to see him specifically without an appointment. “Did they say who they were?”

He knows who it is though. People say intuition is when the brain catches things that it hasn’t consciously processed. Perhaps it’s a smell in the air, the brand of cigarettes being smoked outside, maybe it’s a far off voice he’s heard, Val’s expression, or the way she stands.

Maybe it’s just because, secretly, he hopes it’s him… hopes it’s all him.

“Not as such… no, but they look an awful lot like that Greyjoy guy, the ho-” she stops herself, “the young one.”

“What does he want?”

“What am I?” She scoffs, shaking her head with good humour. “Your secretary?”

With no real thought to what he is doing, Jon gets up from his seat and joins her, first at the door, and then in the slight tilt of her head she’s doing whilst watching Theon standing with his hands in his pockets, politely browsing the artwork on display in the reception area.

“I’ll take him if you want.”

“Sorry, what?” He turns to look at her with shock.

“Joking,” she says, dragging out the word, “I’m joking.”

When Theon does finally look their way, Jon holds up his hand in lieu of a real wave. It’s while he’s walking towards them that he remembers. Hastily, he pulls open the bottom drawer of his desk drawer and attempts to clear the tabletop of the gifts before his guest arrives. The amused look on Greyjoy’s face tells him he wasn’t quite quick enough.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Theon asks while Jon scoots around him to knock the doorstop out of the way. It’s what he’d do with any visitor… to give them some privacy. The door is only wedged open to keep him from going stir crazy, especially when Sam isn’t here.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. _What are you doing here?_ Feels too blunt. _How can I help?_ Is going too far.

Taking his seat again, he asks, spinning on it to look up at Theon, “to what do I owe this?” Pleasure? Inconvenience?

Greyjoy first eyes the plastic chair against the wall that Jon’s desk is pushed up to and then Sam’s vacant one, but then takes neither, choosing instead to perch on the desk itself, right by him. It’s too late to be getting embarrassed about the shitty office, but he can help but feel like he’s put his life on display.

Theon’s hand delves into his pocket and pulls on a folded piece of paper. He brandishes it momentarily in front of Jon’s face before placing it in front of him and tapping it.

“Hmm,” Jon hums, looking down at Greyjoy’s hand at the flyer he’s been distributing around the neighbourhood. Hell, even the knuckles on his long fingers are beautiful. “That’s an excellent leaflet you’ve got there,” he says, managing to keep a straight face. “Very well written.”

Theon has his brows raised when he looks up. “If you do say so yourself.”

“What? Oh, you think I wrote this?” Jon asks, pointing to his chest and playing at Greyjoy’s own game. “Can’t say that I did, unfortunately.”

“What would daddy say?” Theon drawls, fingers running along the edge of the desk. “Maybe I should give him a call.”

Jon sucks his teeth. He looks away from Theon’s dark eyes, knowing full well he’s close to laughing. “Too bad your culprit didn’t put a name to their work of art.”

“Too bad I can’t get him over my knee.”

He tries not to show his surprise that Greyjoy has indeed pushed it that far, ignores the heat he can feel in his cheeks, and instead opens himself up by leaning back in the chair. “Mmm, too bad.”

“Do you think he’d be up for getting together some time?” Theon asks, leaning over to pick up one of Jon’s own prints of Ghost taken back in Winterfell Sansa had framed for him as a present. “Talking things over?”

“Maybe… if you asked nicely, he could be receptive to talking.”

Theon briefly averts his eyes by looking down to take in the photograph and smiles, then glances sideways over to Jon. “I’m sure I could be nice - if that’s what he wants... How might I get intouch with him?”

Jon picks up a pen from the pot on his desk then clears his throat. “You’re um-” he licks his bottom lip, he motions behind Theon “-can I get...”

“Sorry.” Greyjoy shifts, angling his body for Jon to reach behind for the sticky notes. He then watches him jot down his number on the pad. Everything about it suggests that he is in fact not at all sorry about it.

Tearing away the square, he looks Theon up and down, if this were the other way round he imagines Theon would be slipping the note into his pocket. That or he’d have forgoed the paper and taken the pen to his hand or arm. Jon on the other hand, offers it out to him.

“Thanks.” Theon takes it, grazing Jon’s fingers in the process.

Shit. All he’s done is hand Greyjoy his number and he feels like he’s cheating on some guy who’s yet to make himself known. If it were Theon, he’d have surely told him by now. He’d be wanting to gloat no doubt… well, that or he doubts they’d be sat having what he hopes he’s right to assume is a coded conversation.

He gets up from his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll, uh, see you out.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Theon looking bemused and placing the frame back. When he reaches for the door handle Theon gets there first. His hand hovers, not quite sure what to do with itself.

“You-“ Theon’s other hand moves to Jon’s collar to straighten it out and Jon feels himself lean in, looks between Theon’s eyes and his mouth and back again. 

Seeing Theon do the same, his head tilts to mirror him. All he needs to do is move those extra couple of inches, Theon’s breath against his lips taunts him and he knows he’s waiting for him to make the move, but he can’t quite manage it. All he’ll want is sex. He can’t ruin something that could be more before it’s even begun.

Before he can do it himself, Theon pulls back.

“There,” he says like nothing happened and Jon wonders if this was the purpose all along, to flaunt the temptation and keep him on edge a little longer. He can’t deny there’s some excitement to it. It leaves his heart racing. “Don’t worry, Snow, I’m sure I can find my own way.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy 💜 It feels crazy that there's only one more chapter after this!
> 
> I know the majority of you will be expecting this, but just a quick warning - this chapter contains a discussion of a past death.

**Theon**

He should really get back into focus, concentrate on work for at least a few hours, or at least _a few minutes_ , and should definitely stop grinning like that. But he can’t help himself, he just can’t. Not while he’s still got Jon's scent in his nose, not while it’s like he can still feel his lips on his own. Imagines feeling them. All just from that _almost_ kiss. 

_Drowned fuck_ , he really hopes this all works out.

Theon’s so caught in his little pink bubble that he doesn't even notice Wex's expression when he reaches the reception. His thumb absently stroking over the little yellow Post-It in his pocket. Like he’s won the greatest treasure and it is only a number. A number that he actually already has.

“I need a second phone,” he says, shrugging off his coat, folding it over his elbow. “It doesn't have to be anything special, don’t think I need it for long anyway.” Then he looks up and sees his frown. “What’s wrong?”

Though Wex just bites his lower lip and then nods towards the conference room. 

And there all good spirits fade as Theon spots him through the glass. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” he sighs, “how long has he been there?”

Wex lifts two fingers.

“Fuck.”

To top it all off, Balon then meets his gaze through the glass front and so Theon knows, there’s no way for him to pretend he didn’t notice, just turn around and go hide in his own office, sitting it out. He has to face him. So, rather than flee, he straightens up, leaves the parka on the counter, and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, like he's getting ready for a fistfight.

 _Meet him with confidence_. He has learned that much by now. 

“Well … hello there,” Theon says as soon as he enters, “can't say I expected you to be here.”

Asha gives a slight huff somewhere to his right. Because of course, she’s there. She's just always there in these crappy situations.

“I think the better question is, why weren't _you_?” His voice sounds annoyed as always, this and his twitching eyebrow, only the left one though, are the only sign of his disapproval. But still, it’s enough to cause Theon's posture to crack a little. 

“Well, I –”

But of course nobody here’s interested in his explanation. His father shows him his palm to interrupt him, less so, lifting only a few fingers of the one hand resting calmly on the large mahogany table between them. 

Where Theon feels rage growing inside him because isn’t this typical? Holds onto the chair in front of him with a clenched jaw and an accelerating pulse. But of course, Balon’s not finished yet. They all know it is just the beginning. 

“I had a guest for lunch today, while you were off elsewhere, probably trying to put another ring on the finger of the next best hooker you can find.”

There is the sound of cracking wood, as Theon clutches the back of the chair with all his strength. 

“It seems the only intelligent thing you managed to do was to get Rhaegar Targaryen on board. I give you credit for that, so maybe there’s still some hope. Yet we both came to the conclusion that we must do some drastic changes in order for all this to make any sense at all.”

“And what would that be?” Theon grits through his teeth.

“Glad you asked,” Balon goes on, and in his eyes Theon sees the hint of a grin. “We have to increase profitability, revise the rental concept, hire different construction workers, much cheaper ones. We have to get rid of all this insurance stuff. In short, revise the entire calculation.”

Theon takes a quick look at Asha, who at least has the decency of pretending to be extremely busy inspecting her fingernails. Then he turns his eyes back on his father. “Is that it?”

“Not quite ... I'm taking you off the project.”

He can't be serious. “You're doing WHAT?”

“Theon,” she says warningly, because of course she’s been listening throughout the whole time. 

But now he no longer gives a fuck. He’s glad though he remained standing instead of sitting down at the table like they both had. The difference in height gives him at least the _slightest_ feeling of superiority. “Let me get this straight, you're pulling _me_ off? From the project _that I landed_?”

“Good that you at least understand _that_ ,” his father replies as if that’s just the end of the matter.

And first, Theon’s just speechless. All the time he was busting his ass for that son of a bitch and this is his reward? 

Then his brain goes back to the presentation, to Jon and the conversation they had afterwards. That he was fucking right. Shit, who would've thought he could admit that without getting angry about it?

And then he bursts out laughing. Probably they think he's lost his mind. Where it starts out as a giggle, but it doesn't take long until he can no longer hold on. The whole thing is just too damn ridiculous. He puts one hand over his eyes, trying to calm down, yet his body continues to tremble after taking a few deep breaths. 

“You know what,” he starts, clearing his throat. To his further amusement, he recognizes a deep frown on the face opposite him, “I'll make this easier for you.” He lets the other hand slide off the chair as well and takes a step back. “I quit.” 

One look at Asha, “see you Sunday at Mom's,” then back at Balon, “and you feel free to fuck yourself.”

With a final bow it’s now him who offers neither of them a chance to respond. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he leaves the room and walks straight to the reception to get his coat. He doesn't even bother to go to his office to get some of his stuff. Let them burn everything for all he cares.

Wex, who obviously overheard just everything, is already standing by with his jacket. 

“Thanks man,” Theon says, reaching for it. Then he feels something hard between the fabric and turning his eyes back up, he sees the smirk on Wex faces as confirmation. “Thank you,” he says again, a whole lot quieter, and then finally heads out the building.

Back on the street, it feels like he’s breathing for the first time. There is a weight lifted from his chest and a lightness to his steps, he never felt before. Like he could fly away on the spot if he just wants to. And somehow it all comes back to Snow.

The thing is old, no smartphone, with a screen to flip open, but it does what it is supposed to do. 

**Snow**  
  
**Today**  
you already got plans for tomorrow?  
  


After pressing _send_ , he allows himself a moment of rest. Puts his head in his neck and closes his eyes. Then seconds later he hears an unknown ringtone, the device in his hand twitches once briefly. And Theon cannot help but smile. 

**Jon**

He’s been reasoning with himself that he may have been misreading signals. He’s not necessarily going on a date with Greyjoy, is he? But when he walks through the door to his apartment building there are very few ways of interpreting the bright smirk Theon flashes him from the leather seat of his bike.

Though he can’t deny his heart skips a beat when he’s offered a wink along with the helmet Theon’s holding out, Jon makes a show of raising his eyebrows in a disapproving manner.

“You coming or what?” Theon asks.

He’s torn. Torn between stubbornly sticking to his safety-conscious resolution and the desire for the rush he knows is headed his way… perhaps even the desire to have Theon think well of him and show he’s not always the spoilsport he might think he is.

“Fine,” Jon makes himself grumble while snatching the helmet and loses face the minute he catches Theon grin. “You are so annoying,” he says, trying not to laugh at him patting the portion of the seat behind him.

The corners of Theon’s lips only tug further apart. “Don’t at me, Snow,” he jokes.

With a roll of his eyes, Jon pulls on the helmet and swings his leg over to sit, instinctively setting his fingers at Theon’s waist as he does so. “Where are you taking me?”

“Where do you suggest? Going to be honest, I’m a little more invested in the journey than the destination.”

Feet finding the pegs, Jon snorts. At least trying to form a plan distracts from the heat radiating off Theon’s body the entire way down his front. It’s not long before he knows what he has to do if they have any hope of working things out. Ignoring the risk of being left stranded should this go wrong, he sighs. “Ok, head for the highway, I’ll direct from there.” 

“A surprise is it?” Theon angles himself to look back and check on Jon, oblivious to how his heart races. “Ok. Don’t be afraid to hold on tight.”

The whole thing should piss him off. 

The way Greyjoy smiles. The way he looks. Smells, even. The leather jacket. The way it feels to have him between his thighs. The way the engine rumbles through him when Theon revs. And the way he automatically grips his hips when they get going. It’s all a cunning ploy that Jon has no doubt has worked well for Theon in the past, and he hates that it's working on him now.

It’s taking anything in him not to set his hands wandering. Not to hook his thumbs over his waistband or to slip his fingers forwards. He imagines sliding a hand tentatively down the inside of his thigh, stroking him softly. As though he’s not doing anything notable. He wonders how quickly Theon might pull over. If he’d find somewhere discreet enough that they wouldn’t have to wait any longer.

Jon bites his bottom lip. He would have never described himself as an exhibitionist, but these last few weeks… first it’s fantasising about offices and carpet burns, and now it’s dirt on his palms, wind through the trees. He thinks of kissing Theon’s nape, pressing his growing erection against the cleft of his arse, and palming him through his jeans while the vibrations run through them each until he could do little else but beg for more. For Jon to unzip his fly and have him come over this precious bike of his.

But he doesn’t act on any of it. And not just because he is in fact concerned about distracting Theon while he drives this contraption either. It takes every ounce of willpower, but he resists bringing his hips forwards, choosing instead to shift uncomfortably like that might stop him being unbearably horny. He can’t crack this early on. Among other things, he can’t let his body get the better of him. He’s not going to be some one night stand, and he has someone else to think about. Someone else he needs to find out more about.

When they come to the first junction to turn off, Jon pats Theon’s left hip. “Here!” He shouts in his ear over the wind.

He should have seen it coming. Greyjoy takes advantage of the empty coastal road and twists the throttle, and Jon flattens himself to his back in response to the acceleration of both bike and heart rate. He can picture the way Theon smiles smugly at how his hands move to grip his waist tightly under the jacket when he swings around a corner. But it might just be worth it while he can touch his body like this. The warmth while the cool sea winds rush around them.

Jon can barely think straight. It’s a struggle to remember the plan. It scares him. Not the fear of the danger, but how free and alive he feels with Theon, and how he’s going to react when he realises. This time he squeezes him when the turn is coming up and later feels the way he tenses beyond the need to maintain his posture. 

Theon pulls over when they come across the car parking space and turns off the engine. Wordlessly, they each climb off and continue in silence down the sand-covered path down to the beach. It feels strange now; not having him close. Maybe he’s fucked it.

“Are you pissed?” Jon asks, looking out at the white tips of the waves, and hears a huff of a laugh to his side.

“Depends on the intent,” Theon tells him honestly and a sideways glance, “but I fear you can’t be trusted to make the decisions in future.”

Well, at least there’s talk of something past today.

“We can’t keep doing this if we can’t get past it or talk about him.”

“I know… I can’t believe you’re even talking to me really.”

“Honestly… I couldn’t either at first. But then… I couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d find it ridiculous if I wouldn’t.”

Theon puffs out some air and lets his gaze wander over the coast, “I haven't been here since that night, you know. I bet he'd find _that_ ridiculous too.”

Jon looks properly at him now, taking in his profile and the way he stands. Sometimes it's hard to imagine him neither smiling nor scowling. It’s odd to think he’d like more opportunities to see him just being. “That’s because it is ridiculous… I come here… sometimes. To think... I used to replay things over and over until I drove myself mad.”

There’s a long silence after that, just them staring at the waves, a few gulls above their heads, and the rushing noise of the sea. It’s almost peaceful, Jon thinks. 

Until suddenly he hears a suppressed sniff beside him, hand now pressed over his mouth while he shakes his head. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he wanted too much too soon and it’s for the best if they just head back home. But then Theon clears his throat and wipes at his eyes like he hopes Jon hasn’t noticed. 

“Fuck … sorry,” he says, his voice a little husky, “it’s just … didn't expect it would hit me like this." 

Jon waits, gives him the time to go on if he wants to. 

Theon swallows hard, his voice is barely more than a breath, "when I turn my head I can almost see him lying there. And … and it feels like I’m fucking seventeen again ... yelling, begging him to fucking breath.”

Apprehensive, Jon inches closer to him until he can reach out to give his shoulder a squeeze, and when that isn’t shrugged off he braves gently circling his finger and thumb at his neck. It’s tempting to draw him in and hold him close. “There’s nothing either of us could have done, you know?” He takes a deep breath. “I know you think I blame you, and I did… then I blamed myself… like he might have listened if I didn’t needlessly contradict everything you ever said… but it was no one's fault. It was a shitty accident.”

“It was me who challenged him to jump.” His words are nearly drowned in the white noise around them, but when he turns his head and finally meets Jon's gaze, their meaning is written there bright and clear. As long as he lives he will blame himself for it. 

Jon just has to take at least some of it away from him. 

“Theon, it wasn’t your fault,” he almost whispers, bringing his hand round to cup Theon’s jaw as he steps to meet him. Theon’s head twists ever so slightly to press lips against his thumb, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to lean in and take them with his own.

He feels Theon exhale a shaky breath and some of the tension dissipate with it. Then Theon has a hand in his hair and the other at his waist and he’s pulling him just that little bit closer. Enough to make him feel wanted but leave him wanting more. He parts his lips just as Theon does and wipes his thumb across his cheek.

A rumble of thunder does nothing to dissuade him. If anything, the moment the heavens open feels like a blessing. The rain that runs through his hair and down his face poured by the gods themselves. And that that he drinks from Theon’s lips is sweetest he’s ever tasted.

“Fuck,” Theon whispers when they part, looking him straight in the eyes. Then he’s nudging his nose against his, willing him to open up to the press of his tongue. 

Jon’s hands are desperate to finally touch him after all this time, making up for lost time as far as he dares until Theon catches them each and the sky flashes.

“We should… we should head back.”

**Theon**

By all gods, he feels like he's losing his mind over how Jon's lips feel against his own.

He's right, they should go back. But Theon can't let go, not just yet. He feels too raw, too open, being here again, finally confronting the past. It's like suddenly everything's exposed and Jon's the only thing that keeps him from breaking. That's why he holds on to him, kisses him with everything he has, while the rain drenches their clothes and the world around them darkens.

But it doesn't matter. Because Jon is warm and real and comforting in a way Theon could never have imagined. How he clutches his jacket with a matching ambition, a matching strength. And _fuck_ , the way he’s kissing him. 

It’s the kind of kiss that stops the earth from turning, holding tight and locking their mouths in a way like he never wants to let go. Theon’s so highly charged with emotions that he stops being aware of where they are and of the world around them. It’s just them. Here and now. 

Only when another thunder fills the air, the following lightning illuminates the skies just after and he feels the shiver running through Jon's body, only then does he realize that they must stop. Leans back a little to look into those beautiful grey eyes. 

There is a soft smile playing around his lips. It’s breathtaking and Theon can’t believe his luck that this is finally directed at him. He has to kiss him, just one more time. 

Jon chuckles at his eagerness and it’s a sound that drifts over Theon like a warm blanket, gives him a sudden feeling like he might burst from happiness. Nothing has ever felt so right. 

When they finally separate, Theon knows he’s beaming at him, his smile widening to the point where his face can hardly contain it, as Jon almost tenderly strokes a wet strand of his black hair behind his ear. “We should really head back,” he pants, a little out of breath himself and Theon nods. 

With quick steps they jog the way back to the parking lot. Wet to the bones and Theon knows it will get worse once they’re back on the road, the cold wind added to the crackling rain. Still he takes a last breath before he starts the engine. 

His eyes adhere to the cliff on the coast. And he can't help but think of Robb, how different his life might have been if only he could have saved him then. Maybe he would get to where he’s now much earlier, or maybe never. Theon only hopes that wherever he’s now, he can forgive him. That he’s happy for them in some kind of way.

Jon slides closer, nothing left of the restraint from their previous drive here, as he wraps his hands around him. So with one last sigh Theon averts his eyes and puts on his own helmet. 

And it doesn't take long until he feels Snow’s hand traveling down. Until his right one releases the grip at his waist and sneaks forward between his legs. Seeming to be as impatient as he is, while Theon swerves through the traffic, darting around cars and trucks without a hint of hesitation. 

Fortunately the rain has eased off a little, and Jon's warm body behind him lets him almost enjoy the ride. Lets him _definitely_ enjoy it, as he presses harder against his back. As he feels his growing erection against his ass. And the strokes of his probably cold and numb fingers over the inside of his thigh.

What seemed like no more than half an hour before now feels like a thousand, until they're finally standing in front of Snow’s apartment again. 

He doesn't know why he’s nervous, why he takes his time until he looks around, takes a glance at Jon over his shoulder while he climbs down from the bike. But he is, has never been, but it's different with Jon, it always is. With a shaking breath Theon follows him, unsure what to say. “Well, um .. thanks for–” 

“You want to come inside?” Jon’s cheeks are flushed from the cold and his obvious arousal and Theon believes he cuts a similar figure as he emits a soft sigh, relieved, and nods his head.

Buzzing with anticipation they both make their way inside. Dripping, leaving puddles wherever they go. Jon's jeans, deep blue at noon, are now almost black, soaked with rain. It won't be easy to tear them off, but Theon’s certain that this is a challenge he’s happy to take on.

As soon as the doors of the elevator are shut, he can no longer hold back. With a quick turn Theon lunges forward and takes Jon’s mouth in a bruising kiss, doesn't have to wait even a second until Jon grants him entrance. So he gives as good as he gets, pressing himself against him, his hands on Theon’s ass, while he's pinned against the wall. 

He's kissing his way to Jon's ear, his teeth dragging along the edge of his jaw as he moves to suck on his earlobe. “Fuck, how much I want you,” he gasps, “I want you so bad.”

“I know … I know,” Snow moans back, rubbing his cock deliciously against Theon's own erection with every circle of their hips. 

Until the elevator stops with a threatening rattle and the door opens. 

They both turn their heads to watch the man enter. He appears about fifty, dry and hard, with black eyes and black hair streaked with grey. A look of utter contempt directed at them, one that’s quite a serious competition to both their two fathers.

“Alliser,” Jon greets him. And Theon’s impressed how steady his voice sounds despite the raging hard-on in his pants, which he can’t hide, even if he wants to. 

Very slowly Theon moves back, runs his fingers through his wet hair and then buries them clumsily in his trouser pockets. It doesn't escape his notice how Jon keeps giving him a look. The grin on his lips is hard to miss as they drive further up. And Theon smirks back, bites his lips, to not speak until they're alone again.

Which thankfully does not take long. 

With a violent jerk the elevator comes to a halt again. Jon's look is full of hunger and desire, the confirmation that this is their exit. That this is really happening now. 

Theon's heart skips a beat as he follows him, as he’s finally about to get what he desires for so _so_ long.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe it's all over! Thank you everyone for reading and the wonderful comments we've had.

**Jon**

Jon’s heart pounds in his chest. He’s trembling, fingers numb, whether it be from the cold or nerves, the key shakes in his hand as he tries to get it in the lock on his door. Theon’s hands on his hips aren’t helping him concentrate on the task at hand either. 

As he turns the handle, he turns himself, spinning in Theon’s arms, and pulls him by his jacket into the flat.

“Can I get you anything?” Jon asks between kisses, letting the door slam shut on itself and chucking his keys onto the counter, but Theon declines to answer him. Instead, he’s pushing the coat from Jon’s shoulder’s and discarding it on the kitchen floor.

It’s difficult to decide how to prioritise between the ridding of clothes and the feel of Theon’s mouth on his own. Theon’s t-shirt clings to him when he tries to remove it, and Theon has that little extra height on him, impossible to do without his assistance. It gives Jon the opportunity to take in the sight of him, a moment to run his hand over the goosebumps and stiff nipples. He means to warm him in the process, but his hands aren’t all that much warmer.

He looks familiar. Jon supposes that’s how hung up he’s been on Greyjoy all these years.

Theon catches him staring when it's off, and Jon spots an odd expression cross his face before he’s smiling and knocking Jon’s chin up to take him back into a heady kiss. He reaches for the hem of Jon’s own shirt and parts only from the kiss to tug it over his head. He whispers against Jon’s lips, “bedroom?”

They stumble across the small space, fighting with belts and buttons in the process. Jon kisses at Theon’s neck while he works, urging him back in the right direction.

“Snow?” Theon’s voice above him sounds thoroughly entertained.

Distracted, Jon murmurs, “mmm?”

“Snow,” he chuckles, insisting on getting Jon’s attention and when he does look Jon finds him with fingers on a pile of leaflets sitting on a shelf.

Jon bites his lip over a cheeky grin. “How did they get there?” He asks, unzipping Theon’s fly.

“Mmm,” Theon hums, “I wonder.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Theon laughs, takes hold of him by the belt loops and turns them both to push him back onto his unmade bed. He’s beginning to wish he’d foreseen this. He should’ve foreseen this. It’s Greyjoy. Fuck. He’s letting Greyjoy into his bed after a couple of mere hours together.

Theon’s hands are peeling the jeans from his skin, tearing them down his legs. “Do you want to be?” At least he sounds as gone as he is.

He’s asking for it. Isn’t he? But he can’t bring himself to care. He’s been after this ever since he saw him on that fucking stage, if not the moment he spotted him outside. And Theon is… different, yet the same as he always was in all the right ways. It feels like he’s on the good side of an in joke now. Perhaps that always was down to perspective, but it's not worth thinking about lost time.

Jon reaches out and pulls Theon down with him. His hand finds a pert buttock to hold while he grinds against him. “I want you,” he admits, flipping them for Theon to be laid on the bed beneath him. He crawls up over him a little, fumbles in a drawer while Theon’s tongue licks long stripes against his skin. A firm hand cups him, begins stroking just as Theon’s lips lock onto collar and suck. Jon gasps, jerks his hips into Theon’s hand while he sucks him purple. Hand still on the rattling drawer, the bedside table threatens to tip when he lets his weight slip onto it for just a moment.

Releasing him, Theon smirks into the crook of his neck briefly at the chaos he’s caused then he’s pressing his tongue against the mark he’s left. The thought of it there for others to see makes him ache as much as sensation.

He opens his mouth, trying to think of how to word what he wants to ask, but Theon smiles, pulls him down to kiss him softly, and takes the bottle of lube from his hand. Theon’s teeth graze his jaw, takes his ear between them. Playing with his thumb against Jon’s lips, he whispers, “you drive me mad with this clever mouth of yours. I have to wonder what hidden talents it might have.”

Jon’s stomach flips and by the smug look on his face, Theon knows it. 

He turns on the bed, starts slow, trailing sloppy kisses down Theon’s body, feels the way he twitches and responds under his lips, until it has the desired effect and he has Theon’s hand in his hair taking control and guiding him down to his cock. He’s licking him from root to tip when he hears the click of the lube’s lid, and wrapping his lips around Theon’s girth when he feels slick fingers between his cheeks.

He moans with Theon circling him, whether it be at the weight on his tongue, or the promise of being filled. Theon is being gentle with him, slipping the tip of a finger into him over and over, massaging him, teasing him open. It would be sweet if he weren’t desperate for more. He cants back onto Theon, whining around him. 

Fingertips sink into his thigh. “Fuck, Jon,” breathes Theon and gifts him with two wonderful fingers.

He sucks hard, letting Theon know just how much he likes it. He wishes he could see Theon’s face. Could see the effect he’s having. But he has to make do with the sound of heavy breaths and groans, the rough kneading of his arse, and the falter in pace of the fingers fucking him when he experiments with his tongue.

His toes are curling, he doesn’t want to lose the arch in his jaw, but he needs more. He pulls away, cheek against Theon’s thigh. “Fuck me,” he says, voice low, hoarse. Theon is unrelenting, behaves as though he’s heard nothing until Jon pushes out the word, “please.”

“What was that, Snow?”

“Please,” Jon begs, feeling himself smile despite the brief press of tongue in his cheek. “Fuck me…” He presses his eyes closed, concentrating on the fingers pressing against the sweet spot inside of him. “Gods, please fuck me, Theon… fuck me.”

**Theon**

It’s happening, it’s really happening right now. And fuck, Jon’s even begging him to do it, to fuck him. Gods, he wants this so much and now he barely knows how to handle all this without making a complete fool of himself, spilling the right second he’s going to be inside him.

“Come here,” he rasps then, smiles softly at the whine Snow utters as he removes his fingers. 

He looks so wrecked already, his curls tusseld, spit framing his mouth and glistening in his beard. It’s such a lovely picture that Theon can’t help but just take one moment to just look at him, watch him in all his manly glory. 

But Jon seems not the least bit interested in a breather. As soon as he reaches him pressing his mouth on his, dives his tongue in, hot and messy. And Theon’s cock throbs hard as he tastes himself on his lips. Moaning against him without holding back even a bit. 

Only gasping a single word, as they briefly separate to catch their breath, “condom?” 

Jon gladly obeys. He reaches again for the bedside table and hands it to him without another comment. But then he lies down beside him, one arm tucked behind his head, knees bent, and waits. He’d look almost relaxed like this, if it weren't for his rock-hard cock between his legs and that dark glow in his eyes. 

“You know how to handle this?” His voice is husky as he nods at the condom, lying useless in his hands and smirks then at his expression. 

Though Theon quickly regains his composure, rips open the package with his teeth, rolling it over with practiced efficiency. Takes his place between him. Takes his time, and there it’s on him to smirk. Teasing him. Just ghosting the blunt shape of his dick against him, but withdraws, as Jon tries to shove back.

“Impatient aren't we?” he grins.

Snow only lifts his brow, “who wouldn't be?”

Theon reaches for his leg and rests it on his shoulder. This spread open he has a good view now. Presses his thumb hard against Jon's gaping and begging hole, while he starts to suck the inside of his knee. “I’m gonna make you scream my name,” he tells him, staring at him from deep black eyes. 

“Don't put yourself under press– _aah!_ ”

With a smug smirk and one fluid motion, Theon thrusts in. Ruthless maybe. But the look on his face is worth it. Pounding into him without mercy, so they both groan deeply when he bottoms out. It feels so right, so perfect. Jon is warm and tight around him, clenching his muscles in the best way possible. Arching his back as Theon snaps his hips, brushing against his prostate with every thrust and screaming in pleasure. He's digging his heel into Theon's back in order to spur him on. And who is he to deny him?

“Oh gods … fuck, Theon, don’t stop, _please_ ... don’t stop.” 

Jon’s moans are so filthy, a sound that makes his cock give another painful throb right inside him. And he can’t believe how long it took them to get here, drenched and naked, so closely connected. Why did they wait so long? It’s the best he’s ever felt in his whole life.

Then he sees Snow’s hand moving down, loosening his grip on Theon’s arm to grab his own cock. Starting to pump himself in earnest. And Theon lets him pull a few good strokes before he bends over and slaps his hand away. “Let me do this.” 

His own grip is firm, and by the little noises Jon makes he know he’s touching him just the right way. The movement of his wrist matching those of his hips. And as he leans forward a little further for their lips to meet, right about to kiss, Jon grabs him by his neck and slams their mouths together just once more.

The chill from before is gone. Now it's only heat surrounding them, sweat starting to gather between their stomachs. Hard muscles pressed against each other. They’re moaning and kissing, and licking and in the end just breathing into each other's mouth, drowning in their arousal.

He's close and Jon might be too, as Theon speeds up. Moving at a pace that is almost brutal, rapid, fast. His lips parting and the pleasure that feels like a scream, comes out of his mouth as a choked cry. Snapping his hips faster, deeper.

And Jon has it similar as he arches his spine, pressing back against Theon. “Oh fuck, oh Theon, fuck, right there. Just like that… just there, right there.”

“Fuck, you ... you're so… Gods, this is so…” Theon moans as his fingers tighten their hold on Jon's hip.

“I know, fuck, I know. Just don’t, don't stop.” He sounds close to sobbing.

Then suddenly his whole body stiffens, as his orgasm tears through him, as he covers Theon's hand, their stomachs, their chests with hot white stripes. And it is this sight that makes his balls tighten, pleasure rising to an almost unbearable height. So Theon pulls out, throws the condom away, and adds his own paint on Jon's skin a few seconds later with a deep growl.

"Oh fuck," he breaths, because… _holy fucking shit._

With one last pull of his fist, he slumps forward, causing the mattress to bounce a little, and rolls beside him. Black dots dancing before his eyes. 

For a little while they’re just lying there, gasping for breath, with their eyes closed and their heads spinning. Until Jon starts to move beside him, reaches for a box of tissues on the floor and begins to clean himself up without another word. 

Through his cloud of bliss Theon can sense something is wrong. That this is not the happy post-orgasmic mood it's supposed to be. So he sits up and turns his head. "You're okay?" 

Was he too rough? Snow seemed to like it? Fuck, it was the best sex he ever had and maybe Jon thinks it was bad?

So despite this nightmare of thoughts he can't contain his grin when Jon turns to look at him. He just looks so damn well fucked and it really _really_ suits him.

"I'm good," he replies, "more than good actually." Now he can't help himself and smiles as well. "It's just … shit."

"What?"

"There’s this other guy."

Theon's heart drops.

"Remember when we met at the bar and I was waiting on that date. I also told you at the store about him, so … I wrote back to him in the end. And fuck, I know this sounds stupid, but I feel like there's something between us, and now I don't know what to do, and I can't believe I'm saying all this to you after we had some mind-blowing sex and … fuck." 

Snow stops his rant and looks at him all guilty. Theon though just keeps smiling. Because how could he not? There IS another guy, of course there is … HIM! How could _he_ be so stupid to forget that? Maybe he should just tell him right away. Just fuck his stupid plan. Maybe he should tell him the truth right now. 

"I … it's …" he clears his throat, "it's alright." 

"Really?" Snow doesn't seem convinced and also a little disappointed. 

"Yeah," Theon smiles still, leans forward and presses a soft kiss against his lips. "I've waited long enough for this. I can wait a little longer." 

Jon's mouth drops open, "you, you’ve waited for this?" 

He gives him no reply though, just swings his legs out of bed and stands up to get dressed. Then remembers that his clothes are properly still wet and dirty. 

So ten minutes later he leaves Snow's apartment with a pair of black sweatpants which are not his own and also a red hoodie of a band he never even heard of. But it smells like Jon and this alone is enough for him to risk looking like a complete hobo.

Then just as he's about to put his helmet on, he feels his phone buzzing. Knows who it is without looking, but still doing so.

**JT**  
  
**Today**  
I know you said you needed time, but I can't wait any longer. It has to be now or never. So … can I see you tomorrow?  
  
u may. i can't wait either. outside the Maiden Fare tomorrow afternoon at 4 pm?  
  


**Jon**

This is absolutely ridiculous. What the fuck was he thinking? Ok, he knows what he was thinking; he’ll never be able to stop wondering if he doesn’t find out who this is or if there could be something there. Doesn’t stop the voice in his head screaming that he’s an idiot though.

What’s even worse is that he can’t stop picturing how Greyjoy just _smiled_. Like it wasn’t a problem. Perhaps that’s a little hypocritical, because he’s the one heading out to meet with another guy. But, what, is he just that sure of himself? Or does he just not care all that much?

Jon cares. He cares enough that his stomach is in knots. Gods, please don’t let him throw up.

What’s he supposed to do if he likes them both?

Fuck.

He very nearly decides to turn back and away from the restaurant.

There’s this thought that’s been playing on his mind though. Greyjoy’s smile. An overall sense of déjà vu. He’s been telling himself that it's just wishful thinking. Theon would have said something. Surely. Surely he would’ve said something. Maybe its not wishful thinking, because maybe Theon is fucking with him.

No, he trusts him more than that now… doesn’t he?

But it seems he’s not going to be able to put an end to this internal torture because its five minutes after the agreed time, there’s no one here outside The Maiden Fare, and lets face it - this bloke doesn’t have the greatest of track records, and well, Jon knows better than to hang around here waiting for someone who’s not going to turn up. And so he turns to leave, cursing putting this new thing with Theon under threat for someone he doesn’t know and has already let him down once. All because they seem to have some strange connection he can’t get over.

He forks his fingers through his hair as he walks and tries to think of something he can say to Theon to make this all go away. 

And then he sees him.

Theon. 

On the corner of the street, giving him a shrug and the most sheepish smile Jon thinks he’s ever seen on those lips.

No. Fuck this. Jon clasp his hands on the back of his hands and spins around. He’s out of here. This can’t be happening. His pulse thumps in his ears. He might very well be sick. But then he reconsiders, takes a deep breath, bites his lip when he realises he can’t leave it like this.

To Theon’s credit, when he’s back looking at him, he’s standing patiently waiting, until Jon is marching back to him and giving him a light yet heartfelt shove on the chest.

“I can’t believe you!” Jon yells “How long have you known? Has this all been some big joke to you?”

“What?” Theon brings his hands up in front of his chest. “No! Of course not.”

“But it is you?”

“Yes,” Theon nods, “it’s me.”

“How long, Theon?” Jon repeats, thinking back over things. His hand falls to the shape of his phone in this pocket. “Oh gods, you didn’t know when we -” He’s going to throw up.

“No,” Greyjoy looks torn between being amused and concerned. He makes a grab for Jon’s hand, taking it from his pocket and giving it an affectionate squeeze. Jon has a good mind to shake him off. “Just since…” He gestures through the windows. 

Still unsure, Jon slides his hand away and crosses his arms. “Why?”

“Didn’t I say something then? Jon, come on, how would you have reacted?”

He’d have refused to have any more to do with him, wouldn’t he? Moved out of the flat, laid low, pretended none of it had happened… perhaps made a bid to destroy Greyjoy’s phone.

“You could’ve said something yesterday,” he points out stubbornly.

“Yeah… I just… I didn’t know how.”

“So you thought you’d just appear in front of me and not have to put words to it?”

“...Yeah?” Theon grimaces.

“Idiot.”

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Jon wrinkles up his face, trying to decide whether or not to say what he’s thinking. He presses his tongue into his cheek and looks down the road past Theon briefly until he’s ready. “I wanted it to be you,” he admits, finally, and can’t hold back the smile that has been brewing any longer.

“Well, of course,” Theon grins, rocking up towards him with such a smug look that Jon’s eyes roll with a will of their own, “but who could compete with me, but me?” He takes hold of each side of Jon’s open coat and pulls him in close, fighting Jon’s feigned annoyance. Jon expects him to go straight in for the kiss, but instead he presses his forehead against his. “I wanted to make sure you were interested in all of me before rocking the boat.”

Theon presses his nose softly against Jon’s, knocks them together, and waits for Jon to kiss him, which he does wholeheartedly and with such little restraint that Theon is smirking when they part. “I was going to ask if you wanted to get the drink,” he says, “but maybe we ought to take this back to your place.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure how welcome you are there,” jokes Jon, though this is something of a problem. There’s only so long they can avoid the elephant in the room. “I was weak willed yesterday, perhaps I should stand firm.”

“About that…” Theon bites his lip, but he seems maybe excited rather than nervous from the glint in his eyes. “I quit my job.”

“Are you being serious?” Jon asks, brows furrowing. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Wouldn’t want you getting into this thinking it was over you and I’m just going to roll over all the time.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” scoffs Jon, breaking out into a smile despite himself and inclining his head to initiate walking back to his flat. “If you want forgiveness you’re going to have to start communicating. No more white lies... What happened anyway?

“I told my poor excuse of a father to go fuck himself. You should try it for yourself.”

Jon glances over to him, reflects on all those conversations, and pushes him playfully on the shoulder as they walk. “Twit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let us know what you think! :)  
> And if you want you can find us on Tumblr as [Salty Wench](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com/) and [Evax3](https://evax3.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [You can find Evax3's lovely artwork on tumblr here.](https://evax3.tumblr.com/post/630530495846006784/dont-me-theon-x-jon-rating-m-chapter-1)


End file.
